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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29410863">Nutmeg</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/starstuddedsin/pseuds/starstuddedsin'>starstuddedsin</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Abuse, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Sex, Bestiality, Blow Jobs, Boypussy, Cervix Penetration, Claiming, Cock Worship, Cunnilingus, Degradation, Dehumanization, Dubious Consent, Figging, Fingerfucking, Forced Prostitution, Fucking Machines, Gang Rape, Gangbang, Humiliation, Knotting, Lactation, Large Cock, M/M, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Not Safe Sane and Consensual, Oral Sex, Painful Sex, Porn With Plot, Rimming, Rough Sex, Sexual Slavery, Size Difference, Vaginal Sex, Violent Sex, Whipping, pissing inside</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 11:09:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>116,971</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29410863</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/starstuddedsin/pseuds/starstuddedsin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Nutmeg is an omega. This means he exists to take cock in his holes, whether he likes it or not.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Original Male Character(s)/Other(s), Original Male Character/Original Male Character</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>551</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>720</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Master of Omegas</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Please heed all of the tags before reading. For additional detail on the violence in this chapter, which may or may not be something you are comfortable reading, click down to the bottom of the fic.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was Wisp that Master Gervaise was calling for, so Nutmeg expected the brutal cuff he received when he was the one to climb atop the Master instead.</p><p>The pain was still sharp. Nutmeg's head snapped back from the force of it -- Master Gervaise had hands like shovels, never mind he wasn't a large man -- and Nutmeg's ears rang.</p><p>"Where's Wisp?" slurred Master Gervaise.</p><p>Nutmeg kept his mind slow, blank, and stupid, breathing in and out as he came back from the blow. His hands mechanically pulled aside the strip of coarse fabric swaddling his groin.</p><p>"Serving as he should, Master," he replied, voice even. Not a feeling, he had. Not a thought. That kept his scent so blank even Lord Raskin's Master of Omegas wouldn't sniff a lie out on him. </p><p>"Very sorry, Master," he continued, the words crisp and unerring and emotionless. "Let this thing have Wisp’s duties, Master."</p><p>Master Gervaise waved a hand, and made a half-disgusted sound. It wasn't a no, a <i>no</i> would have involved a rough jab at the sensitive spot on Nutmeg's neck. So Nutmeg proceeded to scoot forwards and untie the lacings on the Master's trousers.</p><p>The Master of the Omegas smelled of drink, overpowering his usual delta-scent. He did love to drink. It made the world less bright for him. So now he was loose-limbed on the fine couch in his personal parlor. He put up little resistance despite the irritated curl of his lip. It was no trouble at all to undo his trousers and pull out his cock, thick and stubby, rising dark-veined from a pale thatch of hair. Nutmeg rubbed it off the way the Master liked, tugs firm, but fingers gentle. Not five tugs, it took, to have it waking up. The velvet-soft skin all taut and hard and hot, the ugly head proud and red. Nutmeg knew it intimately. All his Lordship's O-whores did. Though they were bound to serve anyone in the keep who wanted them, it stood to reason that they most often danced to the whims of the Master of the Omegas. Unlike the Master of Gammas, Master of Deltas, or any of the other Masters, the Master of Omegas was not one of the tribe he oversaw. He was not a lord leading lords. He was a lord meant to train pets, like the Master of Falcons or the Master of the Stables.</p><p>Master Gervaise directed, oversaw, and punished them. Now he huffed and turned his head, to the desk to his right. He lovingly picked up his crop, the long-handled switch he called his own right hand.</p><p>Nutmeg knew better than to shudder at it. Knew better than to pause in his work at all. Breathing in, out, even as Wisp had taught him, he lined Master Gervaise's hard rod up with his sore little O-cunt. Then, without so much as pausing, he sank down.</p><p>Months of practice, he'd had, when he'd first been deemed ready for training. Trained by this thick cock, learning how not to wriggle away or pause. How not to cry out at how the hot, iron-thick head parted him, caught on his inner rim. Speared up into the tunnel of his cunt, ripping the breath from him for a moment. But only a moment. Like a good bitch, Nutmeg didn't lose his rhythm at the expected pain. He worked his hips, steadying his thin brown hands on Master Gervaise's thighs. Fucking up, then down. His cunt clenched on the Master's fat prick, and he stabbed himself with it again and again. Pain-tinged fullness blossomed across his mind, radiating out from his hurt little hole. Three men, he'd had already today, and washed himself out with a syringe of warm water after each one. He should be looser. But they'd been smaller than the Master, and one had made only half-hearted thrusts into his cunt before settling on his arse, a different hole entirely. So now his well-used flesh clung stubbornly tight to the cock that impaled him, and he felt every movement he made, driving it deeper on each thrust, forcing him to open up a bit more yet.</p><p>His blankness gave. His cunt was going damp, and his brain already fogging up at the fuck. He gave a little whimper and the calm, even smell he'd been so eager to keep gave way to the dirtier scent of an omega enjoying itself.</p><p>Master Gervaise smirked.</p><p>"Open up," he said lazily. </p><p>He prodded the handle of the crop at Nutmeg's mouth. Sometimes he liked to make them kiss it, before striking them. But now, when Nutmeg obediently opened wide, he simply slid the rod of leather into his mouth, making the omega suck it. Master Gervaise thrust it in lazily, chuckling, as Nutmeg continued to ride him. No doubt the image was amusing: the heavy prick parting Nutmeg's wet cunt-folds, Nutmeg's quivering body struggling to maintain the rhythm, and the omega's mouth stretched stupidly around his master's punishment crop, sucking like a bitch.</p><p>Slobbering on it. Master Gervaise liked to make a mess of them. Nutmeg was in no position to fight it. He tasted the dirty leather on his tongue and sucked like his life depended on it, choking a bit as the Master shoved it in with deep, lazy thrusts. This made it harder to keep fucking himself, but he didn't dare stop. </p><p>By now, he didn't quite want to.</p><p>His cunt made dirty sounds as it rode the Master’s cock, nasty and squelching. The wet pooling out of him made the ride slicker, easier. No longer did it hurt. Now it was just right, fucking up into his core and rubbing along his sensitive channel, the cock so wide and demanding in him that his breath came in hungry pants. He fucked himself harder and harder, under the Master's lazy, pleased eye. So hard that his skinny little cock, chemically-fixed like all O-cocks were, flopped lazily and smacked at the little nub above his folds. This added to his pleasure. He sucked at the crop to keep from crying out, spit dripping from around the crop in his mouth as he bounced himself on the Master's prick.</p><p>Close. So...so <i>close</i>...</p><p>When the blow came, it caught him completely off-guard.</p><p>Master Gervaise grabbed his head and slammed it into a corner of the desk. The pain hit and took away all other sensations for a moment. He barely processed his own cry.</p><p>"Were you going to come <i>before</i> your Master?" Master Gervaise said, low and cruel. "No. You know that's not right. Every time, with you sluts. Every time it's the same."</p><p>Nutmeg brought shaking hands to his face. His eye was going puffy, bruised-up. The crop had fallen from his lips. He stammered out apologies. Suddenly he could feel the big cock in him for what it was: a painful intrusion. Fearful, the fear tinging his scent all rotten-sweet, he looked up at his master and clenched his cunt obediently, trying to bite back his sobs.</p><p>"M-master, so s-sorry--"</p><p>Master Gervaise picked up the crop. He grinned as he examined it, pale mustache bristling, but his blue gaze was clinical behind his tinted lenses.</p><p>"Don't apologize," he said silkily. "Do <i>better</i>. Is this what I've taught you? To stop? Get back to pleasing me, and maybe I'll make your time in the field stockade short."</p><p>Now there was no hope of winning back his calm. The fear and its fear-scent enveloped Nutmeg, made his movements shaky as he started up again. His body too tense and frightened to feel pleasure, just as Master liked it. </p><p>"Your cunt's gloriously tight like this," Master said, words going ragged in that way that meant he might come soon. "Not as good as Wisp's. Wisp is better trained. But good."</p><p>When he finally came, he grabbed Nutmeg's jaw in a bruisingly tight hold, groaning. His cum pumped into the omega, sloshing the sore, reddened tunnel with viscous white. He put the crop to Nutmeg's mouth again.</p><p>"Kiss it, and thank Lupa for the honor," he said. "I guess I'm going to have to use it on you after all."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Nutmeg gets hit by his master during sex. Things will slowly get better for him, but his life right now is one of abuse.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Field Stockade</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The omega quarters were, all told, rather shabby. </p><p>Master Gervaise's personal offices were warm and velvet-draped, a fine suite of rooms by the central hall that housed the theatre. And the show pup kennels were kept clean and bright by the servants. But beyond the kennels, theatre, and the Master's rooms, and the five mirrored salons with proper beds for entertaining their betters, the omega quarters became dingy indeed. </p><p>There was the low-ceilinged garret just behind the theatre, stuffed with costumes and face paint to hide their bruises. Then, down a narrow hallway, a stone-flagged courtyard with a tin tub and a pump, a privy, and a small, meager shrine to Lupa. This courtyard was encircled by five high walls. At its far end, near the shrine, was a deep, ramshackle stone hovel. This was the nest, where they slept. Just beyond that was a door, with a passage to the kitchens. This was for meals to be brought to them. The passage locked only on the kitchen-side and could not be opened except for by the cooks. </p><p>Then there was the field wall. Constructed of the same unyielding stone as the rest of their prison, this wall was made rather more distinct by the holes cut carefully into it. At all times, Master Gervaise employed an omega to kneel before these holes every afternoon. Today it was Bonbon, a favorite of the finer lords, but not so much a favorite that he was exempt from doing his duty to the common people of Raskin's keep. </p><p>He bobbed on a cock that protruded from the gloryhole just before his face. His pretty, fine hands pumped two more cocks, from two more holes on either side of him. As he worked the fieldhands on the other side to pleasure, his small, plump figure bobbed and shook, belly and tits jiggling, little cocktip waving to and fro beneath his thin loincloth. The jewel in its useless, gelded head -- a gift from Lord Raskin himself -- was a deep, shining red, a color quite beautiful against Bonbon's pale skin and dark hair. </p><p>He kneeled so that his cunt was visible from the back, a damp, empty slit, fucked so well over the years that it was dark and the lips were puffy. But there was little in the way of pleasure in his bland, purposeful scent. He smelled very proper, like a bitch that knew his place.</p><p>But he gave off a hint of fear, once his gaze slid to the side to behold Master Gervaise and the sobbing, brown little omega the master dragged behind him.</p><p>Nutmeg had been cropped viciously on his rump, hard enough to bleed. And now Master dragged him to the stone door set into the field-side wall. This was the one door that could be opened from the omega side, and yet it never was opened by an omega.</p><p>They all knew well what lay beyond it.</p><p>For a moment, Nutmeg held Bonbon's gaze, and the pretty, well-behaved bitch at the gloryholes looked sympathetic. But he knew better than to interfere. Three or four sigma guards milled about the courtyard, keeping watch, and in any case between them the two omegas could scarcely have kept Master Gervaise in check. He was not a big man, no. But he was a delta, their born better. To challenge him was not in their nature, was not according to the whims of their keep leader or the laws of Lupa, and they would be brutally punished if they dared to try.</p><p>Nutmeg didn't even fight it as Master Gervaise slid back the bolt and dragged him into the dusty space beyond.</p><p>It was a cleared-off area near one of Lord Raskin's fields, the field where the psi, the peasant class, grew the heavy grapes that flavored the alpha lord's light, sparkling wines. Lord Raskin was not a cruel master to the psi. They worked no more than four hours a day, each of them, though they could have worked forty without stopping. And they had free use of his lordship's dance hall, where they could drink and cheer at the jokes of his Lordship's chi-ranked jesters. They could partake of lessons in gardening and herding at his Lordship's learning hall, tutored by wise omicrons or even deltas like Master Gervaise. </p><p>And they could use the omegas. There was always one posted to the wall, as part of his Lordship's show of generosity. And sometimes, when one was bad, there would be one forced into the stockade.</p><p>Now the hard-faced men and women eating their lunch at the wall of the keep straightened, interested, as Master Gervaise dragged Nutmeg into place by the hair. Nutmeg himself didn't fight it, but he couldn't stop quietly sobbing, hating what would come next. </p><p>He was forced to kneel, knees in the dust, and his upper body was locked into the low stockade that faced the keep wall. Master Gervaise ripped off his damp, cum-smeared loincloth and dropped it in the dirt, and then said, "Yyls? The syringe."</p><p>The brown-skinned, long-legged beta who had followed the Master out from the omega quarters whistled as he handed it over. </p><p>Nutmeg, for his part, stilled.</p><p>The rough wooden stockade closed tight around his neck and wrists, forcing his body into an unnatural position, but he could still crane his head up to see the familiar guard. Sir Yyls was a thin, pretty-faced man, and an odd one. Though guarding the omegas was held to be a job strictly for sigmas, the unemotional hunter-class that had about as much affection for useless whores as for the baby birds they cheerfully shot down to garnish Lord Raskin's plate, Sir Yyls, a beta, a proper noble, had been forced to also take the position. Some dishonor he had done, it was said, while fighting the cat clans. As he was too high a class to be executed without a messy trial, Lord Raskin had opted to humiliate him instead, by pressing Yyls into the low work of guarding omegas.</p><p>For this, Yyls ought to have been cruel to them. But he was not. Of all the guards, he was the kindest. He was slow with the lash, and gentle about fucking the little sluts. He even bothered to learn all their names.</p><p>His whistling calmed something in Nutmeg. As Master Gervaise inserted the cold metal syringe into his cunt, he felt some of his fear ebb away. What remained was exhausted expectation.</p><p>The warm water flushed him, oddly soothing in his sore hole. Nutmeg closed his eyes, his sobs quieting. The flushing wasn't precisely pleasant, the rush of water always a strange sensation, but it was necessary. </p><p>"'ere now," he heard one of the psi fieldhands say, after a moment, "What's that you're doing to him, Lordship?"</p><p>The errant psi was quickly shushed by his fellows, all of whom seemed eager to answer.</p><p>"Don't be a fool, Cawther! 'E's cleaning him out! Omegas are hardly no use to knock up!" said one man.</p><p>"They only make more omegas, they do," said a woman, sounding disgusted.</p><p>"Aye, more of their worthless, weak kind. Too small to work, or to hunt, or to defend, or to do much but fuck--" said another woman, her voice no less unsettled.</p><p>"It's a mortal sin, it is, to let them get bred," observed a new man. "As if Lord Raskin didn't have enough of 'em draining his coffers, with their nasty smell--"</p><p>"Smells nasty," Cawther agreed. "Proper bitch smell, like want. All sweet like that."</p><p>"See, how would you feel if you whelped, and the child was <i>that</i>?" said the first woman.</p><p>"If you wish not to breed them," Master Gervaise said, voice cool as he addressed the crowd, "you should flush them after use."</p><p>There was an appreciative murmur from the assembled psi. Master Gervaise's cold hand kneaded Nutmeg's bare arse, enflaming the red, hurt flesh there. Nutmeg shivered. He wanted to keep looking up at Sir Yyls, for all that he had no right to gaze openly at a man so far above his status. But he couldn't help but notice that now more and more psi were arriving, crowding around the stockade, grinning slyly at each other.</p><p>"Lordship, ain't right to make us waste water on the likes of it," one man called out.</p><p>"Who said you had to use water?" Master Gervaise said, sounding bored, just as another man hooted out, "This your first time, Cawdit? No need for water! Piss cleans 'em out just as easy!"</p><p>Nutmeg couldn't help it. He whined, humiliated, as there was a round of jeers. But Master Gervaise only sniffed and said, "Just so. Make him take it in his mouth, too. Really show him his place. You have him until sundown. Yyls, keep watch."</p><p>-</p><p>Each class had its own base scent, and psi scent was heavy and meaty, solid, a slow fug that penetrated the pores and stuck. It smelled perfectly fine to psis. To Nutmeg, it rolled into his brain and made his eyes water, particularly when there were so many crowded around him. He hated it. It made him feel small and pathetic, a speck of worthless cunt to be overpowered. </p><p>That was what he was to <i>them</i>, he knew. They prodded around him, sniffing deep, laughing. For all that they professed to hate his smell, it didn't stop one woman from hitching up her skirts and presenting her cunt.</p><p>"Lick, then," she ordered. </p><p>Nutmeg licked. Her hand guided his head to her mound, tangling hard in his hair. She rubbed him into it, giving him almost no air. Two of her fellows pressed their cocks into his hands, making him rub them off. At his rear, a third parted Nutmeg's cunt lips and, without preamble, fucked into him. This cock was more slender than Master Gervaise's, easier to take. It didn't hurt half so much, and for the next few minutes Nutmeg was almost grateful, before the psi came and then loosed a second, warmer stream inside him.</p><p>Piss.</p><p>The crowd laughed so loud they scared the birds off the keep wall. The hot, foul liquid streamed into Nutmeg's cunt, and he felt the heavy, ugly shame of this. He let out a sob, and in response the woman at his mouth shouted, coming, her heavy scent making her slick taste foul on his tongue. </p><p>Then she, too, let loose a second stream.</p><p>He began to sob again. It was too much, being coated in psi waste, reminded that he was lower even than the lowest caste in the land. While he sputtered, another man took his place at his cunt, a thicker man, whose oily fingers traced the welts on Nutmeg's arse.</p><p>For hours, they used him. Some came in his arse, fucking him brutally until his back channel bled. Some smacked his cheeks with their cocks, jeering at him. Some wanted nothing but to make him drink down their piss, to really use him as a toilet, and these were the worst. The naive Cawther was one of these, a young, towheaded psi barely into manhood, who came again and again to press his cockhead to Nutmeg's lips, as if using him like this was merely a solemn duty.</p><p>All throughout it, they talked among themselves. Mostly village gossip. Or commentary on the season's yields. But -- but more than once, they talked of him. Of what he was, and why it was right that they do this.</p><p>"They really can't make nothing more'n omegas?" one asked, foolish as Cawther had been.</p><p>"Aye. Right useless, they are. Why, we might be psis, but we can whelp any what are willing to sire a pup on us, can't we? That's why Lupa loves us--"</p><p>(Here there was a cheer. Nutmeg, who was choking on a fat, turgid prick, his throat sore and his eyes watering, did not cheer).</p><p>"--but the great wolf-goddess has no love for omegas. Gave 'em no gifts! Marked them as outcasts in all the wolflands. It's a mark of Lord Raskin's kindness he houses this little slut, instead of turfin' 'im out to starve!"</p><p>That was so. Any omega who ventured out beyond the omega quarters would starve, or worse. Be set upon, for the amusement of others. Be pounded hard, and choked, and pissed on. Omegas had no gifts with which to defend themselves from the castes Lupa preferred. Omegas lacked the perfect memory of the omicrons, the eerie swiftness of the betas. The unerring aim of the sigmas, and the eyes of the deltas, whose gazes smarted in light, but who could see through the darkest night with no need of a lantern. </p><p>They lacked, too, the insane endurance of the psis.</p><p>To be beaten, fucked, and choked by a mob was bad enough. To be so treated by a mob that did not tire left Nutmeg hiccuping pathetically, more meat than person. By sundown, when the psis finally begged off and began to wander away, he could not think for hurt, for humiliation. His head lolled in the stockade, and he tasted the misery thick in his own scent. </p><p>When a shadow fell across him, he cringed and whimpered. </p><p>The shadow blinked, whisking fast, and then returned.</p><p>Sir Yyls. Swift, like all his kind were. So fast they blurred out of sight. Now he'd dashed off to get a bucket, which he unceremoniously dumped over Nutmeg's piss-soaked head.</p><p>The water was warm, but it still made the little o-slut cry out.</p><p>"Shhh, Nutmeg," chided Sir Yyls. "It's done. Come now."</p><p>He was brisk releasing the omega from the stockade. Nutmeg did not have the strength to do more than collapse in the dirt. He looked up at the beta lord's face helplessly. Sir Yyls wrinkled his nose at the smell, but did not seem otherwise disgusted.</p><p>"Up with you," he said. </p><p>The edge of his boot prodded at Nutmeg's sore rear. Whimpering, the omega managed to pull himself to his hands and knees.</p><p>"That's it," said Sir Yyls.  "Time to go home, Nutmeg." </p><p>His grass-clean beta scent soothed Nutmeg, cleared the little bitch's head a bit. Nutmeg sobbed gratefully at this and crawled after him, back into the keep. Flaxen-haired Dainty was at the wall now, his pale head bobbing on the last fieldhand's cock. Bonbon and the rest were likely in the theatre. So the tin tub was clean, and Sir Yyls managed to coax him into it. After a seconds-long run by Sir Yyls to Lupa-knew-where for a bit of soap, Nutmeg washed as best he could despite his aching limbs, desperate to get the muck off.</p><p>His brain was muddled, blank terror still catching hold of him. He could not think. It was always like this, after the stockade. It was meant to reduce them, to teach them that stupid and filthy was all they were.</p><p>And he didn't dare give way to any deeper thought than that. Not when there was the swell of music from the theatre -- the evening show beginning. Not even the first song had finished, when Master Gervaise was striding out into the courtyard in a rage.</p><p>"Wisp!" he roared. "Dammit, where is Wisp?"</p><p>Sir Yyls was by now leaning placidly against the pump wall, cleaning his nails with a knife. He did not even glance up before he said, crisply, "Being fucked. Where else?"</p><p>"He's not in any of the pleasure rooms," snapped the Master of Omegas.</p><p>"Of course not," Yyls said with a shrug. "Skelbrooke called for him. Would you like to tell the seventy-three year old Master of the Gammas that he is to drag his aged carcass down to the whore's quarters just because he wants to wet his cock? I imagine he'll return Wisp when he's done with him, in any case."</p><p>There wasn't a glimmer of change in that grass-clean scent, not a single ribbon of artifice. As the Master stomped away, momentarily pacified, Yyls shoved off from the wall and sauntered up to the tub. He fed a now much-cleaner Nutmeg his prick, long and thin like the rest of him, smelling so clean it was nearly a pleasure to suck off. Nutmeg brought his lordship off gratefully, the lazy, easy suck-job a relief after a day in the stockade. </p><p>"Thank you, sir," he said, when the beta lord had come down his throat. He was still too dazed to really reflect on what he was thanking the kind guard for. He could only press a small kiss to the softening cockhead, another to the sack just beyond it.</p><p>It was only later, after the guard had permitted him to limp to the dark, warm nest, when he was embracing Wisp, that Nutmeg realized. The realization tore into him, tinging his scent with shock. He whined, and clutched Wisp -- his mother, his family -- even tighter. He didn't know why, couldn't even begin to guess why. But Sir Yyls had lied for them.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The Rehearsal</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Aside from his skinny shoulders, the boniness of his wrists and his long, thin legs, Nutmeg did not take after his mother.</p><p>Twig, Wisp's secondborn, didn't either. Both of Wisp’s get were brown, with pale brown hair and pale brown skin, an astonishingly un-remarkable pair of omegas. Their only distinctive features were their eyes, Nutmeg's sloe and striking, with long dark lashes; Twig's very round and large, like an owl's. And Twig, too, had lovely curling hair, full where Nutmeg's was glossy and straight. But omegas didn't need pretty eyes or hair: they needed ample tits, jiggling arses, and pink, giving cunts. It made an omega near-invisible to be ugly and skinny and brown, as Twig had learned when he'd come upon his tenth summer and <i>still</i> not interested the Master. </p><p>It had been like that with Nutmeg, too. He had not begun his training until he'd been something like thirteen by his own count, which was extraordinarily old to be put to use. He was about sixteen now, and Twig about fourteen, well past training age, and still the younger omega was kept in the nest. Twig occupied himself looking after the smallest ones: Bonbon's Gem; Pocket's little Keyhole; and Sleeve, who was Dainty's get. They were all now sleeping curled together in a pile of warm rags closer to the nest's entrance, their bellies rounded from gorging themselves on a thin radish-broth stew. A bowl sat close to Wisp, scented slightly <i>too</i> sweet. Bonbon's smell. The lovely omega was usually the one to bring in meals to the little ones. The servants didn't bother to climb into the nest, nor did the guards. The scent of omega was thick here, heady, and in any case the ceiling was low, and the interior dark and a bit dank, the way old stone always grew dank. </p><p>It was not a comfortable sleeping place. Many of the older omegas preferred to sleep in the pleasure rooms, on feather-soft beds, even if in order to do so they had to warm cock all night. But Nutmeg had grown to be grateful for the lack of intrusion in the nest, especially lately.</p><p>Wisp scarcely reacted when his child propped him up. His normally healthy skin was too pale, even by the weak light in the nest, and his golden hair dull. His rounded belly, heavy with get, seemed too big for his skinny frame, and his chest rattled as he slept. Even his wonderful, comfortingly warm scent was faint. Nutmeg grasped for his long-fingered hands -- beautiful, they were, like all the rest of Wisp was beautiful -- and felt how cold they were. Lupa's wolflands were many things, but never cold. They were blessed by the great wolf-goddess, who pushed the sun into shining bright each day, and kept the nights balmy. And yet Wisp was freezing.</p><p>"Mam," Nutmeg whispered, hoarse, heart hurting.</p><p>Wisp's eyes blinked open as he sputtered awake with a cough, obeying the scent-thread of desperate fear in his child. Those eyes, when seen in light, were a stunning clear blue. Wisp had been fucked as soon as he'd seemed old enough to take cock -- for Master Havis, Master Gervaise's predecessor, had recognized the rare beauty before him, and been eager to make use of it. Rather than break Wisp himself, he'd presented the omega to no less than the Alpha Lord, and let Lord Raskin do it. Lord Raskin, in his munificence, had broken in the little omega's cunt and then passed him around to the upper court, generous to a fault.</p><p>Wisp had been the centerpiece of the summer festival. Nine months later, after having been fucked so often even flushing him out couldn't keep seed from taking, he had birthed Nutmeg.</p><p>Now he gave a weak, pathetic noise. When Nutmeg brought the bowl to his lips, he turned his face away.</p><p>"Y-you're hungry," Wisp managed. "<i>You</i> eat."</p><p>It wasn't a question. A mother could read their child's scents far more easily than anyone else could, and Nutmeg was starving. Normally, that would have been the end of that.</p><p>But Nutmeg was not the only hungry child. Now the younger omega put a hand to his mother's swollen stomach, ungainly as it was on Wisp's thin form.</p><p>A new omega. Close to being born. The little one had no scent of his own yet, but gave a fragile kick. It was a wondrous thing to feel. Even despite his misery and worry, Nutmeg smiled at it.</p><p>"He's hungry too," he crooned to his mother. "Feel 'im?"</p><p>Wisp had let his eyes flutter closed. Now he cracked one open tiredly. </p><p>"Aye," he said. "How could this thing not feel him?"</p><p>"Drink, then, Mam," Nutmeg insisted. "For him. He won't drink if you don't."</p><p>"This poor thing will drink half," Wisp said stubbornly. "And half for you." But now he drank, throat bobbing, and Nutmeg's worry eased a bit. </p><p>He didn't know what sickness had hold of his mother. They never knew what ailed them, when sickness came for one of them. They only knew that if they did not beat it, they would simply die, for no theta physician would bother with treating an omega. That was part of why Nutmeg was so insistent Wisp rest, why he had sworn the others to secrecy as he did his best to assume his mother's duties. Wisp was not strong enough for those duties, in any case. He was too feverish and delirious to entertain the Master, and the fine lords, and all the men who demanded a chance to use him. At worst, they would deem him finally too old, fit to have his throat slit and be put out of his misery -- for past twenty-five, Wisp had to be by now! An absurd age for an omega. And at best, they would punish him for daring to fall as sick as this.</p><p>Very sick. Even as he drank, his breaths rattled in-out. </p><p>But if Wisp was eating, then not all was lost.</p><p>-</p><p>In the morning, Wisp seemed a bit better.</p><p>Not wholly better. He still breathed only with difficulty, and still felt alternately too cold and too hot to the touch. But he was alert enough to drag himself upright, so he could beckon the little ones close and rub away the dirt on their sleep-fogged faces, singing Lupa's prayers of protection over them. Alert enough to thank Bonbon and to fuss over ginger-haired Patch, who was just trained and practically a child himself.</p><p>But, throughout all this, exhaustion still clouded Wisp's gaze. When the master bellowed for them, the older ones left him dozing, to go to their duties.</p><p>With no Wisp about, Master Gervaise continued in a foul mood. </p><p>"To the theater!" he roared, lashing them as they hurried out into the blinding morning sun. "Do you think I've nothing better to do than wait for you sluts? There's a new pup-show to practice! Come on with you!"</p><p>They rehearsed first thing, before even eating. Omegas did not deserve food if they didn’t work for it. So, long before the rest of the keep awoke, in the early hours of the morning, they were made to learn the complicated shows and songs which Master Gervaise called his art. </p><p>There, in the omega theatre. It was Lord Raskin's crowning achievement for the amusement of the lower castes, an atrium carved of pink skoll-mined granite and embellished with gleaming onyx stones and rubies, the colors of the Kin clan. Above the stage was His Lordship in stone, astride the Goddess, both gazing benevolently down at the audience. Or lack thereof. In the mornings, the theatre stayed dark and its crimson velvet seats were largely empty, save for the watchful sigma morning-guard, the attending tau servants, and perhaps one or two clever psis who skulked in before the workday, for the pleasure of sitting in the back and ogling the whores free of charge. </p><p>The omegas' place was on the stage, of course. Between the four great stone figures that held up the roof — two to a side. To the left, an enormous stone Prince Warekin, the handsome alpha thirdborn; and a nearly-as-large Prince Larkin, the sunny-tempered youngest prince. To the right, Prince Uskind, the brave, lost firstborn prince, and with him massive Prince Kinbote, the pride of the clan, the war hero. </p><p>Nutmeg liked Kinbote the least. He was the only prince said to be of a size with his own statue, an alpha so enormous that his hands could snap even a broad-shouldered gamma's neck as if it were weightless. All alphas were strong and large. But Kinbote was the strongest and largest, people said, and his Turning, that curious ability that made alphas so especially dangerous, was purportedly the greatest danger Lord Raskin had ever supplied to the armies of the United Wolflands. </p><p>Blessed by Lupa, Lord Kinbote was. Her sentry on earth, Her chosen warrior.</p><p>Every day, Nutmeg tried not to shiver under his onyx-gemstone gaze. </p><p>Today, he failed. </p><p>He was hungry, having split his last meal with Wisp. His right eye was bruised and smarting, from the wallop dealt to him by Master Gervaise. And he had scarcely slept. Worry for his mother had made him start awake more than once, in the sweaty rags he and Wisp shared in the nest. And once he had come awake he had stayed that way, feeling the pain of his sore arseflesh, his well-used holes. Rare was the day when those didn't ache at least a bit, but today they throbbed horribly. As soon as Master Gervaise shouted at them to begin rehearsing the latest show, Nutmeg had to stifle a wince.</p><p>They paraded onto the stage in a line, on all fours. Dainty and Pocket and Bonbon stood and each approached one of the four poles arranged in the center of the stage. Nutmeg and Patch, who made up the ends of the line, stayed on all fours and turned their arses to the audience. Nutmeg was always last on the stage, and the least important, for he was not so beautiful as Bonbon, nor so full-figured as Dainty and Pocket, and his cunt was darker and less pretty than Patch's ginger-fuzzed little mound. But even though he was the unworthiest of the bunch, he knew Master Gervaise's eyes were sharp, and would catch any hesitation even from him.</p><p>As Dainty's light, clear voice called out the opening notes of praise to the Goddess, and the ones in the center began to sway and dance, shaking their full arses and their pretty tits, twirling about the poles, Nutmeg reached around, spread his cunt-lips, and began to stroke the abused flesh.</p><p>
  <i>"The goddess Lupa saw the world<br/>
Empty, weak, and cold;<br/>
So with Her snout She pushed the sun,<br/>
Across the sky it rolled!"</i>
</p><p>"Fuck your fingers in!" snapped Master Gervaise, from where he lounged in the first row, casting a clinical gaze across the line, taking in the slapping feet and the slow, humiliating bitch-dancing of the ones in the center. And at each end, like bookends, a pair of skinny, spread legs, framing twin trails of omega slick beginning to glisten at two plump, enticing o-cunts. "Part your flaps!"</p><p>So Nutmeg obeyed. He rolled his hips in time to the song, dipping his fingers in and making a vee each time, prodding open his hole for the benefit of their few onlookers. For Kinbote, perhaps, who glared down at the worthless line flashing and waving their sore little cunts, degrading themselves in rehearsal for greater degradations yet.</p><p>Still Dainty kept on singing.</p><p>
  <i>"And having made this mighty world,<br/>
For those who kept Her faith,<br/>
She gave them each a blessed gift,<br/>
To keep the Wolflands safe:"</i>
</p><p>And now they all had to sing. This was not precisely easy, for by now Nutmeg was fucking himself in earnest, breathing out hard, as his fingers coaxed pleasure from his soreness. He splayed his face to the stage and used one hand to part his cunt, the other to plunge between his folds, rubbing at the sensitive flesh there, as his quivering voice joined Dainty and the others, together producing a needy, breathy chorus that filled the atrium with pliant bitchsong:</p><p>
  <i>"To psis She gave great stamina,<br/>
so they would never tire;<br/>
And upsilons She made immune,<br/>
to any poison dire;<br/>
while all the taus She did ensure,<br/>
could vanish in thin air;<br/>
And every chi, with cackling wit,<br/>
could drive away despair--"</i>
</p><p>Now, with the lowest castes properly praised, they were on to the more important parts of the song. At this, Master Gervaise sprang up. His heavy boots stomped up the stone steps to the stage, and the swish of his crop smacked his glove-clad palm in time to the music he'd written for them.</p><p>"Louder! Keep to the melody! Worthless sluts!" </p><p>It was hard for some of them. The lustful scent of his fellow omegas was going to Nutmeg's head, and he knew his was going to theirs. Now they were breaking off each line with little bitch-sobs, as they rocked back on their wanton fingers, spreading themselves open, the ones in the center rubbing their cunts on the poles, leaving gleaming trails of slick.</p><p>
  <i>"Her omicrons, She did decree,<br/>
Would have prodigious memory;<br/>
Her sigmas perfect aim;<br/>
While thetas, that wise, gentle sect,<br/>
Would any illness tame.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Each epsilon could raise the dead;<br/>
And zetas could make gold from lead;<br/>
And the lovely lambdas, their greatest feature?<br/>
To snare the heart of any creature--"</i>
</p><p>Here there was the snap of the lash, and Patch gave a wail.</p><p>"Flat!" hissed Master Gervaise. At the coldness of his tone, Nutmeg shuddered. He'd likely cropped Patch right on his holes. He always did that. All the more reason not to provoke his ire, to not dare stop, not leave off preparing their cunts for the pup show, not stop the song--</p><p>
  <i>"And to help rule, She also made<br/>
A sacred class of three:<br/>
Betas, deltas, gammas,<br/>
blessed with gamma-prophecy;</i>
</p><p>
  <i>And betas they are swift of foot,<br/>
And deltas keen of sight;<br/>
To serve our kings, to whom She gave,<br/>
The blessings of the fight--"</i>
</p><p>Now another crack, but Nutmeg scarcely heard it because the crop struck him on the cunt, catching his fingers in the blow. He shrieked, the pain bright and intense, made worse by his confusion. He had been singing well. He had the best voice of any of them, that he knew for a fact. It wasn't the lisping, light tone Dainty had, which Master Gervaise felt most fitting for an omega. It was husky, rich, and harmony came easily to it. Now he sobbed once, twice, tears falling to the cold stage beneath his cheek, before joining in the song again. Only now, as he sang, the Master leaned over him and spoke:</p><p><i>"For alphas, they have perfect strength,<br/>
And from great wounds they heal--</i>"</p><p>"There is one pup who will go unserved, as Wisp is missing," Master Gervaise said silkily, right in Nutmeg's ear. His fingers roughly jabbed the sensitive spot on Nutmeg's neck, the spot that made Nutmeg hiccup, his cunt drool ever-more.</p><p>
  <i>"And when they Turn are stronger still,<br/>
With claws of shining steel--"</i>
</p><p>"I believe you will make up for it," the Master added. "And serve two during the show tonight. That will teach him, don't you think?"</p><p>Nutmeg's breath hitched with misery. He pushed out the last lines nevertheless, not wanting to be cropped again. It was hard to think. His heart was pounding, and he could hardly think. <i>Two</i> pups?</p><p><i>"For they become as mighty wolves,<br/>
These, Her honored lords;<br/>
In this they have, of all the castes,<br/>
The greatest of rewards!</i>"</p><p>"Bring them out!" Master Gervaise roared now, smacking his palm again with the crop. And now, from the kennel door, came the thump, thump of tau footsteps, leading the show-pups, with their claws clacking on the stone of the central aisle, their excited yips filling the air. Nutmeg almost faltered, stil ltrying to comprehend it. <i>Two</i>.</p><p>And now the song became bawdier, rowdier. As befitting the omega theatre. Of course, were this the evening show, there would have been cheers by now. Every caste cheered when their line came, delighted to be paid homage to. But the loudest cheers came at the end, when the omegas spoke of being omegas.</p><p>"<i>And so these castes are in Her grace,<br/>
But not so with us,<br/>
To show you the omega's place,<br/>
We'll take dogs in the puss;</i></p><p>
  <i>We're lower than the animals,<br/>
We're worthless, nasty sluts,<br/>
We thank you for the honor of<br/>
Living to serve your ruts!"</i>
</p><p>The yips now gave way to delighted barks, as the pups were let off their leashes and permitted to bound onto the stage. The dogs needed no instruction to play their roles. Master Gervaise often said they were better trained than the omegas were. Certainly they were more beloved and valued, these huge mastiffs, with their shining golden fur and dangerous, curved claws. <i>Pup</i> was a misnomer for them. They were true wolf-dog hybrids, bred at the Temple of Lupa for their fierce, lovely looks, and for the enormous, red-purple cocks that protruded between their hind legs. </p><p>Normally it was Wat who found Nutmeg. The largest pups were supposed to be intercepted by the omegas dancing in the center of the stage, who Master Gervaise instructed to crawl to them, to caress them, to moan and kiss like they longed to take dog cock. This left Ninetooth, a slobbery runt with bad legs, to lunge for Patch, and patient, slow-fucking Wat to circle the stage, before pouncing on Nutmeg, the bitch at the very end.</p><p>But today Master Gervaise grabbed Nutmeg's hair and pulled him forwards.</p><p>"<i>Court</i> them!" he ordered. "Or there will be one extra, blocking Bonbon or Dainty or Pocket from sight."</p><p>Such a thing could not be permitted, for Bonbon was Lord Raskin's favorite, and always made to take center-stage, showing off his ample tits and bouncing prettily on a dog's cockstand. Dainty was fair and delicate as his name, and likewise too nice a sight to be blocked, whenever he was raped. And Pocket -- Pocket was rounded with child, which meant he had a special place in the show. So now Master Gervaise forced Nutmeg to crawl forwards and grasp Truncheon, one of the biggest mastiffs, and put his face right to the dog's snarling face.</p><p>Only the sweet smell of omega slick ever kept the creatures from biting them. Now, Truncheon's long, silky ears perked up, and his snarl quieted long enough for Nutmeg to give him a sloppy kiss on the snout, like a lover. Master Gervaise was an artist, and he crafted these shows as if they were art. Dirty omega art. He said, "That's it. Kiss him like you're worshipping Lupa Herself. It's an honor for the likes of you to feel his tongue--"</p><p>Hot. Heavy. It swirled around Nutmeg's mouth, its foul meat taste making him gag. Master Gervaise smacked him, hard, on the back on the head.</p><p>"Why aren't the rest of you singing?" he demanded, as he did this. Amid the clamor of the dogs, they had missed their cue for the second song, a ditty between Pocket and Dainty that was meant to tell the audience what an honor it would be to birth a lovely new puppy, instead of another bitch omega like the one in Pocket’s belly. This was lighter doggerel. It won the Master great acclaim each night, scores of laughter, and now Master Gervaise turned out his lash with abandon, demanding that the two omegas performing it sound more joyous, more delighted to be fucking dogs.</p><p>But he did not let up his grip on Nutmeg's hair. By now, Wat was circling Nutmeg's kneeling arse, as the omega continued to kiss and pet Truncheon. Master Gervaise's boot caught Nutmeg in the cunt and tipped him forwards, practically onto Truncheon, who yipped. Nutmeg himself whined in terror, for the dog's teeth were sharp, but by kicking him onto all fours again Master Gervaise had created an opening for Wat. The huge creature mounted his favorite bitch all too readily, his familiar cock prodding at Nutmeg's cunt until it caught.</p><p>It plunged in, the wet folds slick enough to part before the thick length. Nutmeg's breath hitched, and all his thoughts narrowed to the animal's fat, brutal prick. It jacksawed into him fiercely, for Wat knew how to take his pleasure, and Nutmeg hiccuped and shook his hips on instinct. For a moment, his mind was empty but for the <i>feel</i>, for an animal fuck was like that. It overpowered a bitch, left nothing but the harsh, heavenly fuck-pain of being forced open. <i>Filled</i>. Nutmeg moaned.</p><p>Master Gervaise hit him again.</p><p>"What did I tell you?" he roared. "Rub off the other one, bitch!"</p><p>Nutmeg came back to earth. Though he jerked beneath Wat's wide, merciless prick, overcome by the hard dog-cock sliding along his hole, he managed to reach beneath Truncheon and find a cock even bigger than Wat's. He stroked it, moaning slightly, hearing the bigger dog's growls give way to yips of relief. It was hot in his hands, fat and long, so big he marveled that Bonbon, Dainty, Pocket, or Wisp had ever managed to take it.</p><p>"Good," grunted Master Gervaise. "Now get under there and get it in your mouth, whore."</p><p>And then, with no care for the omega's safety or comfort, he pushed Nutmeg between Truncheon's enormous front legs. The dog yipped again, caught off balance, but Master Gervaise, by means of his crop, forced Nutmeg into place beneath <i>two</i> dogs. Arse up, cunt plugged. And his mouth to Truncheon's huge, foul-smelling dog cock. Nutmeg put his lips to the bitter, blunt head, and sucked, and that was all it took for Truncheon to start fucking him like his mouth was a cunt. The filthy prick careened in-out of his mouth, battering at the back of his throat, as his cunt took a near-identical pounding from behind. </p><p>Nutmeg couldn't help it. He began to choke. He could take a man's prick deep, but not this one.  His eyes watered, and now besides his poor, hurting cunt his whole throat hurt, burned for air. He gurgled on dog-cock, helpless, raped from both ends, the dogs' rough fucking grinding him into the stage, forcing him to submit absolutely.</p><p>He blacked out. He was lucky, for by this time some flaw in Pocket and Dainty's duet had distracted Master Gervaise, and Nutmeg did not seem to be lashed for losing consciousness. But when he came to, it was harder still to breathe. Truncheon's knot had formed, stretching his mouth so wide that Nutmeg cried, burbled up snot, struggling for air. And at his cunt was Wat's knot, a hard, unyielding mass inside him, slowly pumping him full of dog cum.</p><p>Distantly, he heard Pocket sob out Master Gervaise's little ditty, the snatch of song that brought roars of approval each night from the audience:</p><p>
  <i>"Oh, I'm lower than an animal,<br/>
A worthless, nasty slut,<br/>
And so it is an honor to,<br/>
Take dog-cock in my cunt!"</i>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Warekin and Brindle</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>After rehearsal, while the show-pups were returned to the kennel to be brushed, fed treats, and praised, the omegas returned to the courtyard to eat the same watery porridge they received each morning.</p><p>They moved gingerly, wincing at new bruises, their cunts smarting. Their breakfast was usually deposited in a trough by the kitchen door some time during rehearsals. Each morning, the kitchen upsilons dumped out this heap of food for the waiting omega-children: Twig, Keyhole, Sleeve, and Gem; and left the elders to stagger out and eat the leavings around midday. </p><p>This the rest of them did gratefully, falling to their knees before the trough and picking up great sloppy handfuls of porridge, bellies rumbling with hunger. Nutmeg spared a glance for the rag-draped door of the nest. There, Twig sat quietly in shadow, bouncing Gem on his skinny lap. At Nutmeg's inquisitive, tired look, Twig nodded. </p><p>Nutmeg's pounding heart stilled. They had found a way to take some food to Wisp. Good. Now he could eat himself, his greatest worry assuaged.</p><p>By now, the morning-guard, five sigmas who shared an easy camaraderie and a penchant for playing with exhausted omegas, were in a good mood, knowing that soon the noon-guard would relieve them at their posts. One seized Patch as the young boy bent his head to the trough and, without warning, undid the flap of his guard-trousers and guided his cock into the omega's skinny arse.</p><p>Patch gave a small, wounded sound. That was all. He kept his ginger head bent, eating as much as he could, as he was roughly fucked from behind. None of the other omegas reacted either. Their collective scent was defeated and tired, as it always was after rehearsals. They had no energy for fighting. Better to eat, and to be grateful for the noon hour, an hour in which they were permitted a brief rest. </p><p>None of them batted an eye as another sigma came and stood on the other side of the trough, lazily jerking his stubby cock. </p><p>His cum eventually spattered out over the cold porridge. They ate it anyway. They were used to it, and in any case to turn up their noses at it would only prompt punishment. The sigma who'd added his cum to their breakfast chuckled and, after tucking his cock away, cuffed Dainty on his pale head almost gently.</p><p>"What do you say, slut?"</p><p>"Thank you, honorable,” Dainty replied obediently. The sigma chuckled again. It was as if Dainty's dampened scent was betraying no disgust, no anger -- just acceptance.</p><p>For one strange moment, Nutmeg was almost proud of him.</p><p>The other castes thought they could sniff them out. They always thought that. Omega-whiff was so potent, so unmistakable, that every cast from psi to alpha assumed they could read it. </p><p>But the omegas could keep their <i>real</i> reactions quite secret. The tiny thread of disgust and rage Dainty was giving off to his cousins, his family, was not at all detectable to the sigmas. Just as Nutmeg's treachery, his deceitful decision to hide his ailing mother away, had completely bypassed Master Gervaise. Quite without meaning to, Nutmeg's own scent took on a small hint of pride at this, and in response the omegas next to him shuffled a tiny bit closer, Dainty and Bonbon brushing him with their shoulders, the gentle, soft press of their skin on his like a private celebration.</p><p><i>They can do what they like to us. But they don't</i> know<i> us</i>.</p><p>Pocket's hand fluttered to his gravid belly, as if to echo the thought. Even Patch gave a tiny smile, despite the rough treatment he was receiving. </p><p>For a moment, beneath the pounding midday sun, they were <i>all</i> nearly proud. It was such a silly thing for five omegas to be that Nutmeg almost gave a tired laugh. </p><p>After they ate, they washed. This was Nutmeg's favorite part of the day, for the closeness and gentleness that came of it. All together, they would take turns cleaning each other. Two or three in the big tin tub at a time, scrubbing filth and cum from their bodies, while the guard-change commenced. The sigmas traded gossip and hailed each other, ignoring the little huddle of omega whores that was busy getting clean. Nutmeg was first in the tub by silent agreement, along with Pocket, for they'd had the hardest time of it at rehearsal. Nutmeg was gentle splashing water on his pregnant friend's puffy cunt, coaxing out the dog seed with his fingers, and Pocket reached back and clasped his hand gratefully.</p><p>"Did well with two, Nut."</p><p>"Aye. Not like this thing had a choice," Nutmeg said back.</p><p>Their voices were low, so as to not be heard by the guards on the other side of the courtyard. Bonbon, who was scooping up water with a battered cup and running it over Nutmeg's sore back while Patch and Dainty took the small, cheap combs by the pump and worked on sorting Nutmeg and Patch's hair, said, "Your mother be proud, Nut. Hard though the work is, what do we do?"</p><p>All at once, like a chant, the other omegas replied.</p><p>"Survive it."</p><p>"Haven't died," Bonbon added.</p><p>"Haven't died," echoed the rest. Bonbon's light fingers danced down Nutmeg's back and began to scoop the cum from his cunt, gentle as Nutmeg was being with Pocket. Nutmeg gave a sigh of pleasure at the sensation. Just the barest brushes, kind and soft, to wash out his poor little hole. For his part, he began to rub Pocket's back, to find the knots of tension and soothe his friend by rubbing them out.</p><p>"And we things, we are together," Bonbon said, determined-sounding.</p><p>"Aye, we stay together," said the rest.</p><p>"A family, we are," Bonbon finished.</p><p>"A family we stay," murmured the others in answer.</p><p>After they all washed, they obediently went to Lupa's shrine and abased themselves for a few minutes, faces to the flagstones, but that meant nothing. That was for the eyes of the guards. The real prayer was <i>their</i> prayer to caste and clan, a chant to the lowest caste, to celebrate its survival.</p><p>Nutmeg, who felt about as much adoration for the goddess as She did for him, was the first to stop prostrating himself before Her. With one glance at Her triangular face and vicious snout, another back at the laughing sigma noon-guard by the far wall, he slowly slunk off, back to the pump. There he found the cup Bonbon had been using and quietly filled it with water, before hurrying into the nest again.</p><p>Wisp was asleep again. Now he had been tugged onto the soft, smelly bundle that was the children's sleep-nest, and the little ones, led by Twig, leaned over him. They were softly singing as well, with Gem, the smallest, stumbling over the words, one of the little songs all omega-children seemed to make up, a wordless melody of play-sounds. </p><p><i>"Ta-ru-weloveWisp!<br/>
Ta-ru-pleasesaveWisp!</i>"</p><p>It wasn't nonsense. Their little scents gave meaning to their play, scents full of childish love and fear and dread and desperate hope. An echo of what they saw the elders do. They parted to make room for Nutmeg, who pressed a kiss to Sleeve's blond head, then Gem's dark one.</p><p>"Are giving him strength, Nut," Twig reported solemnly, looking with his huge eyes up at his brother.</p><p>"Good," Nutmeg told him firmly. "Doing well, each one of you."</p><p>But Twig's scent took on a note of apprehension now.</p><p>"Does he know yet?" the slender boy asked nervously, shifting in his kneeling position. "The Master?"</p><p>Nutmeg filed away the <i>yet</i>. It did seem incredible that Master Gervaise was still unaware of what was happening with Wisp. But somehow, the Master had no idea. Before rehearsals, the Master had been ruthless interrogating the sigma guard, desperate to know where Yyls was and whether he had yet demanded the Gammas bring Wisp back to the harem, as Master Gervaise had told him to demand. But Yyls never appeared before afternoon, desultory about his guard-duties, and so for all the Master knew Wisp was still in use elsewhere and that was that. </p><p>Nutmeg still could make no sense of the beta guard's kindness. Sir Yyls was of the second-highest caste in the land, never mind that he was a disgraced member of that caste. He owed no fealty to a pack of whores. Likely he was having some slow, patient fun at the Master's expense, in helping them conceal Wisp's condition. Likely that was it.</p><p>Now Nutmeg leaned over his mother, gently shaking him awake so Wisp could drink. Wisp's eyes blinked open slowly, but he managed to pull himself up with little aid. That showed a bit more strength than he'd had the day before, so Nutmeg was grateful.</p><p>"They've been soothing this poor thing, my Nutmeg," Wisp rasped out, between sips, with tender glances to the children on either side. The children, to a one, preened, and said with childish sincerity, "Thank you, Mama Wisp--" and little Gem latched onto Wisp's side and hugged him.</p><p>"They've done good work," Nutmeg said. "Told them so. Already you're looking better."</p><p>Or so he wanted to think. Wisp was still too pale, his hands too cold, shaking as they held the cup. His breath still rattled in his chest. This was how Cherry, Patch's mother, had died. Like this, a slow fading, until one morning he could not go out and face the Master. Cherry had simply lain still in his rags, Patch clutching him, with his lips blue and his eyes fogged by death.</p><p>The children whined. Nutmeg's fear and despair was leaching into his scent. Ashamed, he gathered himself together.</p><p>"You're <i>getting</i> better," he insisted, desperate for it to be true. "Aye?"</p><p>In response, his mother only said, maddeningly, "You've said your prayers, then?"</p><p>Nutmeg rolled his eyes. He hardly cared for Lupa, and most of the others didn't either. What use was a goddess who hated their caste? Who denied them Her gifts, who cared not if they lived or died? It was said that She wouldn't even permit omegas into Her fecund forest-palace, like She did the spirits of the other castes. That omegas, when they died, became just more animals for Her chosen to hunt, their very souls disposable to Her, like the souls of rabbits or of chipmunks. </p><p>But Wisp loved and feared Her, and kept Her faith. Wisp had always been faithful, had been taught to be so by his own pious mother, Little Glove.</p><p>Nutmeg had to bite back a cruel word now. The goddess Lupa had repaid Little Glove ill for his faith. Like she did with all of them. But Wisp, who was so pliable and sweet and kind, could grow very angered and restless when Lupa was dishonored. So now Nutmeg only nodded, and said, "Kissed the courtyard floor for her, this useless thing did, Mam."</p><p>Which was only true.</p><p>Wisp was too weak to scent out his sarcasm. Wisp only nodded, and said, "Good. Hope She blesses you with kind ones today, my love--"</p><p>There were a few kind ones. Gentle thetas, or soft-fingered, studious omicrons. The lower castes were often brutal, and the upper ones rarely bothered fucking omegas, for they could have fine lambdas, who were more beautiful and valued in every way. But here and there among the middle castes there could be found a kind lover or two, and it was every omega's prayer to receive those, instead of the other kind.</p><p>Wisp continued speaking, between coughs.</p><p>"--have been praying for that, for all. She has been good, to keep Twig in the nest. And give this thing time to rest--"</p><p><i>That was me</i>, Nutmeg wanted to say, mulishly. <i>I masterminded that for you, Mam. This thing, this </i>me<i>. Not Her.</i></p><p>"--so have been praying She will continue to smile on each worthless thing in Her sight." </p><p>"May She yet," Nutmeg forced out. As Wisp was rambling, he was directing the children to find cleaner rags, with which to bundle his mother's cold body. And feeling carefully along Wisp's belly, smelling out the scent of the babe. Quite ready to be born. Quite soon. Perhaps the birthing would be good for Wisp. Omegas birthed very easily, their bodies designed for it, for giving get. The pain and labor of forcing out a child suited them. That Wisp was perhaps too weak to manage it was a thought Nutmeg didn't dare consider. He preferred to think that, once the stresses of carrying were removed, Wisp might then simply improve.</p><p>"Fussing," Wisp chided him now, as Nutmeg piled the nest high around him. But he smiled, that lovely wide-lipped smile of his that always reached his clear blue eyes. "All will be well, love. This thing feels it."</p><p>"Aye," Nutmeg said, and forced himself to meet his mother's gaze and to keep his own scent free of worry. </p><p>He couldn't say that anything, ever, had turned out <i>well</i> for them. To ask the cruel wolf-goddess to make <i>all</i> well seemed a special sort of self-delusion. </p><p>But arguing with Wisp wouldn't make him better.</p><p>-</p><p>Lupa didn't exactly bless Nutmeg, but neither was She cruel as She could be.</p><p>She gave him to a pair of chis for the morning. Lovers, they seemed to be. They were more wrapped up in each other than in Nutmeg. While the male plowed his lady on the fine silk bed in the receiving room, Nutmeg had only to apply his tongue to the man's puckered arsehole.</p><p><i>Always get in deep,</i> Master Gervaise had taught him. <i>Never show disgust.</i></p><p>This act was so filthy only an omega could be expected to do it. There was not even a bit of pleasure in it. But it wasn't hard, and he wasn't being bruised-up, so he bore the dirty taste, the untoward fragrance. Got his tongue in like a good bitch, and in not twenty minutes the chi-man was shouting and coming in his lady.</p><p>Then they embraced, and petted each other, and giggled at the wanton thoughts that had brought them to add an omega to their games. They stretched out on the bed and made Nutmeg lick their toes for a jest, laughing to see his pink omega tongue lathing their feet.</p><p>"Do you like the taste?" jeered the man.</p><p>Sweaty toe-flesh, scented with the mild spice-scent all chis had, was by far one of the least objectionable things Nutmeg could think to have to put his mouth on. He nodded obediently, sucking the man's big toe, and mumbled out, in muffled tones, "Y's, hon-rable. Thank y', hon-rable."</p><p>They roared with laughter. The man thrust his chest out, proud. Omegas had to abide by the laws, and so they called themselves <i>things</i>, and all the other castes <i>honorable</i>. This hardly ever seemed to matter to the upper castes, but the lower castes often insisted on it. It was a matter of a special pride, to the lower castes, to be reminded that they weren't the lowest caste of all.</p><p>Nutmeg expected this. It smarted a bit -- it always smarted a bit -- but only in a small, near-dead way. He didn't let it really bother him. He hoped, really, that these chis would keep him a bit longer yet. He would lick what they liked, and count himself grateful not to be used more roughly.</p><p>But it wasn't to be. Soon there came a pounding at the door, and Master Gervaise strode in. The chi woman squawked and pulled the sheet up to cover herself, and the chi man sprang up with a bellow.</p><p>"Look here! What's this abou--"</p><p>He stopped. His face paled. With one look at the fine clothes and tinted lenses of the Master of Omegas, the chi could see he was facing a delta, a Lord. </p><p>Master Gervaise only said, carelessly, "There's greater ones have need of this," and pulled Nutmeg from the bed roughly. Nutmeg was dragged into the hall by the neck, and thrust in front of the Master, who lashed his arse with the crop to get him walking. </p><p>"My office! Now! I've still to track down that little bitch that's child-swollen. And Wisp! <i>Why the fuck haven't they returned Wisp?</i>"</p><p>Surely this question was issued to greater authorities than Nutmeg. Nutmeg elected not to answer it. Instead, he obeyed his master and scampered down the hall to the door which led to Master Gervaise's suites.</p><p>The smell hit him like a mallet to the face. He stumbled.</p><p>It was...it was <i>rich</i>. Deep. His mouth began to water, and he fell to his knees in surprise. Righting himself, grasping the door pull, he was able to fall into the room gracelessly, landing somehow between Dainty and Patch. Bonbon was here too, and a moment later the Master arrived, shoving Pocket to the floor by the others.</p><p>Nutmeg didn't really notice that. His whole focus was on the two men in the room. Large. Wonderful-smelling. </p><p>And awful. Alphas were awful. Prince Larkin -- he was said to be kind. But the tales Wisp and Bonbon told of others proved that Larkin was the exception, and in any case Nutmeg knew Larkin. Everyone knew of the strong, wide-eyed youngest prince with the dark riot of curls. </p><p>These men, however, Nutmeg had never met before. The one that came forward and immediately stroked the sensitive spot on Nutmeg's neck was dressed in the formal brown leathers of a soldier, with a sapphire-studded clasp for his cloak. He had a grey-streaked blond beard and cool grey eyes. His touch went right to Nutmeg’s cunt and made him hunch over small, whimpering with need, baring his neck to his better.</p><p>"That's one," said the bearded alpha, before proceeding to attack Dainty's scent-gland with the same precision, then each of the others.</p><p>They were too sensitive there. This was the easiest way to geld omegas of resistance, everyone knew that. And when an alpha, with that rich scent of <i>ownership</i>, stroked you there, well, then any bitch was left brain-fogged. Nutmeg's breaths came in hard and fast, and he could hear the others echoing his need.</p><p>"Loud, aren't they?" remarked the other alpha, the one in crimson silks.</p><p>Though Nutmeg had never met this man before, he knew who this was. It was Lord Warekin. Their own prince, who had a statue. Only one alpha had such a riot of golden-red hair, such a well-formed, handsome face. Lord Raskin's thirdborn smelled <i>incredible</i>, like power, like ownership. Without really realizing it, Nutmeg had squirmed into a kneeling position and bared his neck to the prince, specifically. So had all the others. And though moments before Nutmeg had been glad to have his holes empty, now, confused, he could only think how desperately he wished something, anything would <i>fuck</i> him.</p><p>No. Not anything. An alpha. </p><p>When the Master snapped at them to present their holes to their Lordships, Nutmeg scrambled to obey, turning around and getting on all fours, parting the lips of his cunt as if he were onstage. The others did the same. They were a line of eager, scent-maddened boycunts, mouths watering, suddenly hungry to be claimed. </p><p>Prince Warekin's laugh washed over them.</p><p>"I wanted <i>Wisp</i> for you, my friend," he said. "My brother will never stop chattering about him. Larkin assures me he is the only one really worth having. But you tell me he is gone, Gervaise?"</p><p>"Lord Skelbrooke has him," stammered out Master Gervaise. "It wasn't my decision, Highness. Yyls-kin-beta offered him out, without my knowing--"</p><p>"Yyls-kin-beta?" said the unknown blond alpha in soldier's leathers, a bit sharply. "The one who failed to defend Prince Uskind? Warekin, did your father not execute him?"</p><p>"My father is known for his mercy and kindness of spirit," said Warekin, in wry tones. "Execution is not his way, Lord Brindle. Either way, it is no matter. You wished to sample the omegas of the Kin clan. Here are five. Pick the ones you like. I imagine one omega is much the same as another."</p><p>Nutmeg longed to disagree. No. No. He was the best. He was the one who would honor the alpha lord. </p><p>Gervaise was now chattering, showing off his artistic understanding of each candidate for the honor.</p><p>"No, they each have their different uses, lord! Bonbon, this pretty thing, his tits and arseflesh can take most any abuse. Fair as you see him, he gets a lovely red color when whipped! Pumpkin Patch has the pinkest cunt, all beneath this bright hair, and is especially suited to a hard pounding by two at once down there. And Dainty has such a voice! Screams like his little slit will break whenever you use it. A fine pick for a man who likes a loud one, Lord Brindle, if I say so myself. As for Pocket, his little back hole is so tight and warm, it earns the name I gave him. And this one, Nutmeg..."</p><p>Here Master Gervaise trailed off, for the truth was that Nutmeg was just Nutmeg. Skinny, brown, and possessed of two holes that could be fucked, were there no other better options about. There was nothing that made him distinctive or special. But by now Nutmeg was too far gone to feel the old familiar shame of this. Already his cunt was so damp he might come at a touch, and when Lord Brindle put a hand on his arse he nearly whined.</p><p>"Which is the one Lord Raskin prefers?" Lord Brindle said, sounding very unaffected, as if he wasn't aware his every word made Nutmeg's little cunt clench. </p><p>"That is Bonbon, Highness. This one," said Gervaise, stomping over to the dark-haired bitch and slapping his round arse. Bonbon whimpered, the sound less pained than desperate, as if the contact had him quite close to coming. Likely it did. "I've trained him right, I swear it--"</p><p>"All the same, I will not take up one my host might wish to use," Lord Brindle said firmly. "It would not be seemly. Best to leave him unoccupied. As for that ginger, he has a pretty puss, but I never did like redheads. The one with child is far too freckled--"</p><p>"My word, are you picky," said Lord Warekin, with some amusement.</p><p>"So it is down to the blond and this one. I like the tits on the blond, but I don't much like a screamer. And you haven't said which is the tightest. Let's see--"</p><p>And then, without warning, Lord Brindle inserted a finger into Nutmeg's cunt.</p><p>Nutmeg stiffened. The alpha lord had thick, solid digits, and it took just one clumsy finger to have Nutmeg arching his back, moaning, his cunt so wet he could scarcely think. It was like Lord Brindle had prodded at the core of his need.</p><p>"Nutmeg!" roared Master Gervaise, humiliated at this display of sluttish want. The lash whistled through the air. Nutmeg's back erupted into pain, and he cried out.</p><p>The pain mingled with his pleasure. It got into his scent. Suddenly he was giving off as much horror and upset as needy delight, and, strangely, that was what settled it.</p><p>As Nutmeg cowered on the floor, desperately trying to avoid the lash, the alpha lords above him each took a deep, deep breath of the smell alphas were said to like best of all. </p><p>"Omega pain. What a scent," said Lord Brindle, with satisfaction. "Do you know, most find it disgustingly sweet?"</p><p>"The lower castes don't have our discernment," Warekin noted easily.</p><p>"More fool them!" said Lord Brindle. "They don't know what a nice smell it is: a bitch being shown its place. It's like I can <i>taste</i> his shame. No, it's settled, Warekin. I'll play with this one."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This is sort of the end of “part 1” of the fic, which is lots of table-setting but light on plot. Now that we are getting into the plottier bits, I am aiming to update about once a week! But I will update more if I can.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. The Leopard’s Cock</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Bad stuff in this chapter! Please be mindful of tags, although things will get better in the coming chapters.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The enchantment of being overpowered always wore off.</p><p>Within a minute, with their magnificent alpha smell and a simple touch to the scent gland, Lupa's favored could have any omega panting. With five minutes, they could more or less make Nutmeg embarrass himself, and indeed they had. But by the time twenty minutes had passed, Nutmeg was growing used to their scent, his neck no longer throbbed from Lord Brindle's touch, and his cunt was once again feeling more sore than needy.</p><p>So, as he followed the alphas through the keep halls, he felt more fear than lust. </p><p>It was no crime to kill an omega. A psi might do it and face few consequences, save perhaps a small tax for not petitioning the higher castes for permission first. But should an alpha choose to kill an omega, to maim it or brutalize it? An alpha could do that, and decree it cause for celebration. </p><p>It made them dangerous. Nutmeg tried to tamp down on his fear as Lord Brindle and Lord Warekin led him through halls and over stairs, to the alphas' part of the keep, but he was certain he failed. Lord Brindle, in particular, kept looking over his shoulder at the skinny o-slut and grinning, like he could smell the shift in Nutmeg's emotions.</p><p>They brought him to a far prettier courtyard than the one Nutmeg was used to. This was laid with fragrant hedges and rose borders, the walls set with graceful arches and carvings of wolves at play. In the center, a pavilion rose like a golden cage above the gardens. It was laid out with crimson velvet cushions and a low table, which was being set by an upsilon in a smart red kitchen apron. A beautiful black-haired lambda kneeled by the golden steps, playing a light, pleasing melody on a stringed sort of lute.</p><p>And guards patrolled the garden. Deltas, like Master Gervaise, in the elaborate crimson livery that denoted their high status as guardians of one of the princes. They wrinkled their noses at the naked little bitch following obediently after Warekin and his guest.</p><p>Lord Brindle-brin-alpha, prince of the Brin clan. Seldom did Nutmeg, or indeed any omega, have the chance to meet an alpha of another clan. But then, seldom did many of the other clans -- particularly the more countrified gentry -- have the chance to meet an omega. Lord Raskin was an aberration by the standards of the Wolflands. Most of the other keeps had expelled or killed their omegas, forcing the lowest caste to flee to the brothels and back alleys of Skoll City, rather than attempt to make use of Lupa’s least favored.</p><p>Perhaps this explained Brindle's sly glances. Maybe it was curiosity. But there was something more in his flat grey eyes, something colder. Nutmeg didn't like it. </p><p>"Sit there," Lord Brindle instructed, once they'd climbed the steps to the pavilion.</p><p>Nutmeg obeyed, falling to his knees on the cold mosaic floor by the table. Though Nutmeg didn't dare look directly at the alphas, for that was a terrible mark of disrespect, there were little bowls with pools of water on the table. The warm golden light filtering through the latticework ceiling of the pavilion caught on the bowls, and produced a shining reflection of Brindle and Warekin both.</p><p>Brindle was thin-lipped and straight-nosed, and seemed a young man despite the grey in his blond beard. He would have been impressive for his alpha size alone, for he had a great strapping chest and broad shoulders. But then, so did Nutmeg's own prince. And Warekin left Brindle in the dust.</p><p>Nutmeg had never seen him but carved in stone, but Warekin in the flesh was a different matter entirely. Warekin wasn't just handsome. Even his rippling mirror in the bowls had a sort of health, a deep vigor, that made the pretty-faced Sir Yyls, 'til then the handsomest Lord Nutmeg had ever met, seem inadequate by comparison.</p><p>"What shall I do with my new toy?" Brindle was saying, rubbing his hands together and turning towards a sort of knapsack. It was a leather pack, of the sort a warrior might take to the frontlines, with pouches and pockets, lightweight in design but thorough in its construction.</p><p>Warekin dipped his fingers in the bowl before him, for evidently these bowls were to wash with. He appeared to seriously consider the question of how to use Nutmeg only for the barest second.</p><p>"How in Lupa's name should I know?" he said. "You must know I never use the things, Brindle."</p><p>"Ah, yes," Brindle said, snorting. "You -- one of the Order of the Claw!"</p><p>Something in Warekin's handsome face shifted. It was the merest shift. Nutmeg half-thought he was catching a ripple in the water instead of a change in expression, that was how fleeting it was. But for a single instant the thirdborn alpha prince seemed upset.</p><p>Then that fled, and he only said, "Come now, a man is allowed his convictions. I know you think us prudes and conservatives, Brindle--"</p><p>"Hardly! Is not my own father one of the Claw?" Brindle retorted, still rummaging in his pack. "But you are a bit young to be getting so strict about Lupa's edicts. One might think you could have some fun, like--"</p><p>"Oh, please don't say one of my brothers," Warekin said, waving a hand. His fine, full mouth was curved into a grin, but Nutmeg, sitting quietly and observing his reflection, thought that grin must not reach his eyes. Those were oddly hard. No, he had not imagined the prince's brief annoyance at the mention of the Order of the Claw, whatever that was.</p><p>Warekin continued, however, with a voice so light and pleasant it seemed to compete with the lambda's melody and the tinkle of the upsilon's carving knives.</p><p>"Larkin is a pretty little idiot, too young to think on higher powers. Kinbote is a brute, and lacks, I think, the <i>capacity</i> to do so. He impresses people with his size, but you and I know he has no real inner complexity. He ought to have been born a gamma, for all the care he gives the laws of the Goddess. And Uskind..."</p><p>He trailed off. Turned his face, so that the reflection did not show in the water. Just his glorious red-gold hair showed, falling over his cut-glass cheekbones and high brow.</p><p>"Forgive me," Brindle said, after a moment. "It was thoughtless. I was going to say Uskind. He was my companion, my greatest friend. So <i>merry</i>, forever having such fun--"</p><p>"--he was an artless, wonderful child, blessed with every possible gift Lupa could think to give, save that of common sense," Warekin said, voice heavy now. "It has caused our clan great pain, to think of a tribe of backwards <i>snow leopards</i> doing away with him!"</p><p>Nutmeg had already been trying to stay as small and unobtrusive as possible (not difficult, between two men as large and vigorous as Brindle and Warekin). Now he shrunk in smaller still. </p><p>Prince Uskind had been lost around the time Nutmeg was born, so Nutmeg did not recall his loss. But Wisp always said that it had been a shock, and no end of mourning throughout the keep, when the news of Prince Uskind's capture and death had reached Lord Raskin. The alpha lord had been left enraged and grieving, his characteristic good cheer faltering before the loss of the prince. And even in the omega quarters there had been grief, though that -- that was for Little Glove and for--</p><p>"Aha!" Lord Brindle said suddenly, and the thing he pulled from the pack wiped clean Nutmeg's last thought.</p><p>It was a cock. That was clear. But not a cock of flesh, nor even one of the stiff, enormous cocks of wood draped in rubbery whaleskin that Master Gervaise made them train with. No, this cock was of metal, a strange dark metal covered by a brighter silver layer that had small holes all over it. Dumbfounded, Nutmeg looked at it, concluding at once that it must be the work of a zeta, for the alchemist-thaumaturge class was forever said to be inventing bizarre things.</p><p>But this was wrong. With a laugh at Nutmeg's baffled expression, Lord Brindle said, "This is a little token I took from the last leopard troop I slaughtered. It has...<i>curious</i> properties. On your back, omega, and spread your knees so that I can demonstrate them for Warekin here."</p><p>Warekin didn't look as if he cared for a demonstration. He had seemed generally uninterested in Nutmeg throughout this, and nothing about Nutmeg lying back and warily spreading his legs provoked any sort of further response from the prince.</p><p>But Lord Brindle licked his lips. The broad-shouldered alpha stooped and took one of Nutmeg's hands, and closed the fingers around the base of the metal cock. Then he took off his glove and, rather more caressingly than before, found the scent-gland on Nutmeg's neck again.</p><p>The touch was gentle this time. The near-sweetness of it took Nutmeg by surprise, and sent whispers of want down to his cunt.</p><p>"That's it," crooned Lord Brindle. "Nice and wet, omega. Now, I want you to slide it into you as we eat. Fuck yourself with it."</p><p>Nutmeg blinked, for now the full force of Lord Brindle's powerful scent enveloped him. His Lordship's words came at him like commands, like holy directives. His o-cunt clenched on nothing, wanting to be filled. Swallowing hard, he brought the cold metal to his hole.</p><p>It made him squirm. It wasn't warm or comfortable, and it was large enough that his eyes watered with pain as he got the head in. His cunt was still sore from Wat, but it seemed unthinkable not to do as His Lordship had ordered, so he pressed the metal cock in. The momentary sensations of minutes before -- cold mosaic on his back, bright latticed sunshine on his skin, gentle music in his ears -- fell away before the stronger sensations of alpha dominance and a hard object in his cunt.</p><p>"Slow," murmured Lord Brindle. "Take your time. Feel every inch, omega. Fuck yourself with it <i>slow</i>, until it is in as deep as you can take it."</p><p>Lord Warekin said, bored, "Shall we eat?"</p><p>Eat they did. Nutmeg had the vague impression of more upsilons coming and going with bowls of fragrant meats and platters of fruit, finer than anything the little omega would ever taste. But any awe he might feel at this was quite distant. He was too busy obeying the alpha who had pressed his little need-spot and made him stupid with lust.</p><p>So he fucked himself slow. The metal cock never seemed to grow warm. It was cold and uncomfortable all the while, and so <i>large</i>. But Nutmeg's cunt wanted large. His swollen, abused walls stretched painfully, and the pain made him wet. His little moans filled the air, for he was unable to keep them down. Through wet lashes, he dared to stare at Lord Brindle, and found his lordship smiling slightly as he ate.</p><p>Prince Warekin was not smiling. He was brisk. </p><p>"I am pleased you have stopped here on your way to Skoll City, Brindle--"</p><p>"I invited your brother to come along," Brindle said lightly. Nutmeg managed to get the huge cock in halfway and his choked wail at the stretch made the bearded lord grin around a mouthful of food before he chewed and continued. "But Kinbote was eager to return to the Councils in Skoll City. Something to do with your Uncle."</p><p>Warekin's response was almost sour.</p><p>"Uncle hardly uses his position. If he had asked your father what I am to ask you, I would seem less unseemly than I am about to. It is, I am aware, Uncle and Father's role to make the petition I wish to make of your father Lord Nabrin--"</p><p>"Ah," said Lord Brindle. "Kinbote might have mentioned it, actually."</p><p>He stopped and licked the air, scenting the desire and soreness emanating from Nutmeg. Nutmeg, for his part, writhed in place to try and make the big cock fit. With every thrust, he could get a little more in. But his Lordship had said to do it <i>slow</i>. This was torturous. This made the metal cock drag along his cunt, his walls clinging to it. He sobbed, desperate to get more in, to shove the freezing thing in so deep it hit his womb.</p><p>Lord Brindle's grin doubled.</p><p>Warekin, meanwhile, was sputtering.</p><p>"<i>Kinbote</i>?"</p><p>"Your brother isn't so stupid as you take him," Brindle said. "How could he be? He has been at the frontlines since he was sent to squire Uskind while a boy. For that alone, he must possess the fortitude and endurance that so many others in our caste lack these days. And the loyalty, to have uncomplainingly accepted your father's wishes and traded his youth to this war. I take it he cares for you, Warekin. He has pressed your suit for the hand of my lady sister Ebrinne. It may go well. It is not my decision either way, but our father's. Of course, father will wish to know why you cannot simply wed a member of the Kin clan."</p><p>By now Nutmeg had most of it in. He arched his back, angling his hips up to drive it in deeper still. Sliding it in, cold and huge. He grunted like a little pig. The holes in the outer metal scraped lightly along his cunt walls, adding a slow bite to the friction.</p><p>"The Kin clan has no alpha females!" Warekin was saying, passionate and entirely uninterested in Nutmeg's lust. "Only useless amusements in the form of the lower castes--"</p><p>"Ah, but the child mirrors the sire," Brindle said now, shrugging. “Well, so long as one doesn’t seed an omega, it does.” With one hand, he began to rub Nutmeg's knee, but otherwise did nothing to pause the omega in his frenzied fucking.</p><p>"We are alphas, Warekin," Lord Brindle added then. "It is the will of Lupa that, no matter which of the gifted castes an alpha should sire get on, the result is an alpha. Your desire to mate is very natural -- you must be a hale lad of twenty by now, after all--"</p><p>"Twenty-two," Warekin said stiffly. "And I will sire on an alpha. My mother was an alpha, and so I am an alpha twice-over. The only one, Brindle! Uskind's mother was a delta, and Larkin's a gamma. It is best not to <i>speak</i> of Kinbote's--"</p><p>Brindle snorted. "You cannot tell me the rumors about Kinbote are true? A low caste? Please, say your father didn't fuck a psi."</p><p>His hand migrated up to clasp Nutmeg’s hand, and now he was helping Nutmeg fuck himself, adding force to it. Now each thrust was faster, rougher. Dragging his inner walls. Nutmeg's need was building, his sloppy-wet cunt making a nasty squelching sound around the cock.</p><p>Warekin was saying, in the meantime: "It was not a psi! But you see? Your own reaction tells me you believe the same as I do: that the caste of the mother <i>must</i> make a difference. And Ebrinne is the finest female alpha of the finest caste--"</p><p>"Thank you," Brindle said easily. "Father well knows it. And he knows that our own gammas, who bless the Brin clan with the power of foresight and prophecy, would be honored to wed her. Or our fleet-footed betas. Or our honored deltas-"</p><p>"So she would wed them and bear her sire a lower class get like himself!" Warekin cried, voice rising with palpable rage and disgust. "What a cruel trick to play on the Lady Ebrinne!"</p><p>However, Brindle scarcely noticed this outburst. For by now, Nutmeg was getting the whole cock in. The bearded lord had dropped his spoon with a clatter and turned his attention to the little bitch scenting the air. He leaned in between Nutmeg's legs with a grin.</p><p>Then he pressed something on the underside of the metal cock.</p><p>The outer metal shifted. The little holes slotted over hidden catches -- <i>barbs</i>. Not large ones, but they did not have to be. Nutmeg, ignorant of the cock's trick, was in the act of slowly sliding it from his cunt, when the barbs popped out.</p><p>He shrieked. His whole underside shook with pain. The barbs took him by surprise, scraping already sensitive, smarting flesh. He became a wild, thrashing thing, trying to take the metal cock out, but now Lord Brindle's hand closed on his and wouldn't let him.</p><p>He began to fuck Nutmeg with the barbed cock. In, out. Still smiling that slow smile. His long alpha tongue snaked out again, scenting, <i>tasting</i> Nutmeg's pain and betrayal. Brindle's own scent was powerful, satisfied.</p><p>Nutmeg could not stop trying to writhe away. The pain was excruciating. He was shaking and shrieking now, insensible.</p><p>"None of that," chided Lord Brindle, leaning over so that his huge body blanketed the omega. He licked at Nutmeg's neck, finding the scent-spot, and then he <i>bit</i>--</p><p>Nutmeg's eyes rolled back. Something flooded him, something bigger than the pain. A wave that pressed him down, heavy as a charnel-corpse. His mouth and nose were full of Lord Brindle, the power-smell of him. He could feel himself spasm and seize, as the alpha lord continued to scrape his insides, coax yet more pain from him.</p><p>With a chuckle, Lord Brindle undid the leather clasp of his trousers. The blunt, big head of his cock pressed against Nutmeg's dry arse. Then it thrust in, to match the pain in Nutmeg's cunt.</p><p>"Oh, don't be glum, Warekin," Lord Brindle said, not looking at Prince Warekin at all. "I'll put your suit forward to father. I like you, you know. You really know how to entertain."</p><p>-</p><p>Nutmeg had to be carried back to the omega quarters when Lord Brindle was done with him. His legs couldn't bear his weight. He didn't know who did the task of carrying him instead. He was insensible. Twice his body shook on the way, and he heaved up nothing but bile. His holes were radiating pain, his scent fogged by misery. And, since the bite to his neck, confused need wracked him, making him want to be fucked again. This made no sense. He hurt too much to be fucked. He wished he were dead.</p><p>The only good thing, now, was that he was quite useless to Master Gervaise. Even more useless than usual. An unresponsive omega with swollen fuck-holes couldn't suck cock at the gloryholes, or please customers, or take part in the show. The Master, cursing, fell upon Nutmeg with kicks, frustrated that his planned bit of theatre would have to be adjusted again.</p><p>But eventually, by crawling, Nutmeg made it to the nest, and there he was, blessedly, left alone.</p><p>His cunt felt like an open wound. His arse was nearly as bad. He felt hot, too, very feverish, feverish as Wisp. He hardly realized it when Twig's skinny arms closed on him, and Twig and Keyhole, the next-eldest child, dragged him to the same sweat-drenched rags his mother was in.</p><p>"Mam," Nutmeg managed, trying to breathe through shuddering tears. "<i>Mam</i>."</p><p>There was alpha-stink on him. He knew Wisp and the others could smell it, would know what had done this to him. The last thing he saw before he lost consciousness was his mother's weak, horrified realization, and then he was out.</p><p>-</p><p>He dreamt of Little Glove.</p><p>Little Glove had been his grandmother. Nutmeg had never really known him. Only Wisp was old enough to know him, though Bonbon had a few fragmented impressions. Little Glove had been quite pretty, and clever besides. Even Master Havis, then the Master of Omegas, had thought Little Glove clever.</p><p>Master Havis had been a stern but fair man, Wisp always said, with a great fondness for Little Glove, whose cloud of shining hair and wide smile meant he was a popular kind of omega. So long as Little Glove pleased, and Little Glove made sure to please, Master Havis was even kind to the other omegas. In those days, they'd not had to do shows, and they'd had whole days when they could rest without fucking anyone. Sometimes even weeks, for Little Glove would promise to win the Master acclaim with Lord Raskin. Little Glove would paint his lips red, and swing his little hips, and dance to the alpha quarter, ignoring the jeers of the servants on his way. There, he would entertain the alphas so thoroughly that Lord Raskin would lavish praise on Master Havis, and in response Master Havis would give the rest of the omegas a respite. </p><p>And Little Glove would entertain thetas, and learn how to dress his castes' wounds, and how to deliver babes for those omegas who were so weak and worn they could not even do that. Little Glove had once taken ten -- ten lusty betas! -- to give succor to an ill omega-brother who could not entertain. Little Glove had taught the other omegas to care for each others' children, to <i>see</i> each other as brothers and family, even, to sing songs of survival and to hold each other and share in each others scents as if it were a matter of pride to do so.</p><p>Little Glove had been a leader.</p><p>Nutmeg always thought of him looking a bit like Wisp. For Wisp was like Little Glove. Always caring to his fellow omegas. And sweet, winsome, good, besides. Able to make the higher castes satisfied with him. But in dreams Little Glove never seemed like Wisp. Little Glove always seemed a bit too saucy. </p><p>"Aye, they're a horde of brutes," Little Glove would say sometimes, when a hard day of sucking psi cock left Nutmeg with a sore throat and the meat-stink of the worker caste in his nostrils. "More of them than any other caste, Nut. Did you know? The lower castes, they're plentiful. Do you wonder why Raskin lets them have so much rest and pleasure? If they weren't happy, they might rebel. And if they did, well. They do not tire, and there are enough of them to control the keep."</p><p>And Nutmeg would listen to this, and think it over, and see that it was true.</p><p>"The higher the caste, the <i>less</i> they breed," Little Glove would point out on other nights. "Aye, Nut, it's true that an alpha can sire an alpha no matter which of the other castes he whelps on. But that's only if he catches. And that high-caste seed doesn't catch. The higher the caste, Nut, the less there are of them."</p><p>And Nut would think on what he knew of the vast numbers of psi workers, upsilon cooks, tau servants, and chi jesters. The middling quantities of scholar-omicrons, hunter-sigmas, theta physicians. The small numbers of epsilon necromancers, zeta alchemists, and lambda courtesans. And the tiny, tiny circles of lords: some fifteen deltas, ten gammas, even fewer betas.</p><p>The four alphas.</p><p>And he would see that Little Glove was right.</p><p>And some nights, in his dreams, Little Glove would point out, "They flush us out so often. They’re so afraid of us bearing more omegas. Do you think, Nut, that if they hadn't killed so many of us, if they didn't control us, <i>we</i> might outnumber <i>them</i>?"</p><p>And Nut would <i>know</i> it was true, and in his dream his heart would pound, and he would almost wish he didn't know it. He would stammer out, "But we have no gifts! Even if there were forty or fifty of this thing--"</p><p>"Nutmeg," Little Glove would say, disgusted. "Do not call yourself that. 'If there were forty or fifty of <i>me</i>.' Here, you can be a <i>me</i>. You can be a thinking thing, and a thinking thing is not a thing at all."</p><p>"But Lupa's laws say--" Nutmeg would protest.</p><p>"Lupa," Little Glove would say icily, "Does not. Tell you who to be in your <i>mind</i>, Nutmeg."</p><p>But now Little Glove didn't speak at all. Little Glove, with his red lips, his saucy hips, laid quietly in the rags next to Nutmeg. His soft hand reached for Nutmeg's groin, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't remove the barbed cock. So the pain continued. </p><p>Lupa could not say who Little Glove was in Nutmeg's mind. But She had made Little Glove an omega on earth, like She had made Nutmeg. She had allowed Lord Raskin to gift Little Glove to his firstborn, Prince Uskind. When the Prince had ridden off to fight the snow leopard tribes, on behalf of the United Wolflands, Little Glove had been tied to his saddle, sent off with another similarly unfortunate omega, to serve the Prince and his men as camp whores on campaign.</p><p>When Prince Uskind's caravan had been ambushed, Little Glove had been captured and killed along with nearly everyone else. </p><p>So Nutmeg had never had the chance to meet him. The Little Glove in Nutmeg's mind was a pure invention.</p><p>-</p><p>He woke to find two pairs of arms encircling him. </p><p>The warmer ones were Twig's. Nutmeg's younger brother clung to him, skinny form shaking with quiet tears. Wisp clung just as fiercely, but he felt colder, and coughed quite a bit more. </p><p>"Was it Raskin?" he asked, between coughs.</p><p>A fair guess. Nutmeg still stank of alpha, and there were only four alphas that mattered to the Kin clan. Kinbote was a general of the armies, and had been to the keep no more than a handful of times in the past sixteen years. Warekin had been, until just this day, believed to have no interest in omegas. Larkin would sometimes sample Wisp, but Wisp insisted he was not cruel -- in fact, Nutmeg's mother seemed to have almost a fondness for the youngest prince.</p><p>But whenever Raskin used Wisp, or, more often, used Bonbon, those omegas would return bruised and limping. </p><p>Still, now Nutmeg heard the dark-haired omega speak up.</p><p>"This thing thinks not, Wisp," said Bonbon, from where he sat cradling the other children. Gem and Keyhole were sleeping, but Sleeve was watching Nutmeg with wide, frightened eyes. Bonbon rubbed his knobbly little back soothingly.</p><p>"The great Lord is rough, aye, but not like this," said Bonbon, who would know. How often did he return from the alpha quarters with his cunt swollen and gaping, ruined by their leader's relentless appetite? Bonbon had been used so often and well by Lord Raskin that the Lord had even had him pierced, an honor generally reserved for lambdas. </p><p>But there was nothing like honor in how Nutmeg had been used. The horror of it filled him again for a moment, and made him take in a shuddering breath. And then the wave hit him, that same wave of need and desperation and pitiful submission. His neck throbbed. The place where Lord Brindle had bitten him, when he put a shaking hand to it, was puffy and painful, and the want of the bite stayed with him. He whined.</p><p>"Was another alpha, a friend to Warekin," Bonbon was saying, voice tight. "See his neck? Has claim-nipped your Nutmeg--"</p><p>Wisp made a strangled, unhappy noise.</p><p>"Claimed?" he said shakily. "By one friend of Warekin? No. No, Lupa would not be so cruel--"</p><p>"What's a claim, Mam?" Nutmeg managed, through the haze of tears that covered his gaze again now. He felt what it was. It was this emptiness, this hunger in his cunt. It was the willingness, no, the <i>need</i> to crawl from the nest and find Lord Brindle. Abase himself. Beg to take cock again, even the metal cock. </p><p>"Not claimed. Just nipped," Bonbon corrected, sounding as devastated as Nutmeg felt. "A claim started, but not completed. A full claim would be kinder, Nutmeg. A full claim would mean the Lord would be responsible, as to a pet pup. This lord, he nipped you just to leave you needy, Nut. Take from you your mind's peace, your quiet place inside you where you are more than the cock you take."</p><p>That was just it. That was what had happened.</p><p>Lord Brindle, an alpha prince, one of the Goddess' favored, had seen Nutmeg, an omega who had nothing. Nothing but scattered bits of rebellion, small, stolen pieces of pride. Nothing but the small, gentle places in his mind where he could pretend he was more than the Goddess' plan for him.</p><p>And Lord Brindle had stolen that.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Bonny Prince Larkin</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The next few days were long, hard, and dulled by a sense of horror.</p><p>A distant sense. Nutmeg seemed to exist somewhere outside his body. He ate, and rehearsed, and fucked Wat and Truncheon. He sucked psi cock, and the guards' cock, and was fucked by any keep-resident who wished to pay for the pleasure. In his more lucid moments he remembered Wisp, and checked on his mother. But he could not seem to glean any understanding of Wisp's condition. Or of anyone's. At night, he painted over his bruises obediently, and shrugged mechanically into the flimsy costume of chains and links he wore for the omega show, and rubbed his cunt onstage until he sobbed. But it was as if it were happening to someone else. Because it didn't sate him. He was so empty. He wanted -- no, <i>needed</i> -- Lord Brindle.</p><p>It was awful. More than once, the reality that he would never be free of this need would hit him, and he would vomit. On one terrible occasion, he vomited on a tau customer's prick, and after the tau beat him for it, Master Gervaise did as well. </p><p>"Worthless!" he sneered. "You really are the most useless one of all, aren't you, Nutmeg?"</p><p>Nutmeg didn't even try to hide the despairing agreement in his scent.</p><p>If he were not full of such misery, he would have noticed that, in these days, his fellow omegas were careful of him. Bonbon took charge of the matter with Wisp, and whispered a great many asides to Sir Yyls, who somehow spun the appropriate lies to Master Gervaise, who was going half-mad with how his best omega was forever being borrowed by this lord or that one. The other omegas took on simpler tasks. Pocket, though he was so far along he moved awkwardly, volunteered for more than one customer who ought to have gone to Nutmeg. Dainty took several turns at the gloryhole so Nutmeg could go lie in his mother's arms, mind-fogged and miserable. Patch, himself nearly a child, took up Nutmeg's usual duties of scrubbing and grooming the children by the tub each evening, a task that had hitherto been Nutmeg's because Nutmeg had volunteered, but now Nutmeg was doing no volunteering. Nutmeg could do little now but think of Lord Brindle.</p><p>The fourth day after he was nipped, as Bonbon had called it, he woke exhausted. He had not been sleeping. Instead, at nights, he would frig his drooling cunt, so sore, so desperate to be fucked. So he was slow and stupid in rehearsals, and won himself even more of the Master's ire. It was raining that day, and thus to be expected that as punishment he would be assigned to the gloryhole wall while the cold rain spattered and thundered over the courtyard.</p><p>"Let's see if you can at least do this right," Master Gervaise snapped.</p><p>It was a kinder punishment than the Master knew. The rain kept most of the psis away. Nutmeg serviced no more than two cocks in two hours, and, as the rain kept the guards milling at the far wall, by the awning that led to the kitchen passage, he was not watched closely. He was able to close his eyes and fall into a restless sleep, even while kneeling there in the rain. Even in his sleep, his want overtook him, but he was so tired it almost didn't matter.</p><p>And then it abated.</p><p>Not totally. Not enough. Though his eyes snapped open when he caught the rich alpha scent, now something in him knew it was not the right alpha scent. </p><p>But it was an alpha. And he was so desperate that any alpha would do. Uncaring of the task the Master had set him, he turned his face to the scent, which was coming from the keep proper. The sigmas guarding the courtyard were not paying attention to him, so he managed to stumble away from his post, to the arched door which led to the Master's quarters and theatre. </p><p>There was a friendly young voice booming down the corridor from the Master's quarters.</p><p>"--do you mean Wisp is with Lady Yfair? My Wisp? Are you sure you're not having a joke, Gervaise? You know Wisp is always to be waiting for me when I return from a hunting trip! And you must be joking about Warekin calling for an omega. I can't imagine <i>Warekin</i> ever aiming for such fun!"</p><p>Larkin. Prince Larkin. The fourthborn, the youngest of the alpha lords. Nutmeg did not know him, but did know of him, for Larkin, whenever the mood took him, would call for Wisp. And Wisp liked the young lord. </p><p>He said Larkin was lusty, as all alphas were. Rough, too, as was Larkin's right.</p><p>"But he is kind to this thing," Wisp always said, with a faint smile at Nutmeg's answering look of disbelief. "He is kind, my Nut. Someday you shall meet him, and see it for yourself."</p><p>Now, though Nutmeg had never really put any stock in his mother's fantasy of alpha kindness, relief thrummed through Nutmeg's whole body. Kindness had nothing to do with this relief. This wasn't the alpha that his body wanted, but it was at least an alpha. He wanted to cry his thanks, but settled for tottering to the Master's office.</p><p>"--do not want that one," Gervaise was saying, loud enough to hear in the hall. "A disappointment, my prince--"</p><p>"Was that what Warekin told you?" laughed Prince Larkin. "How would he know? He knows nothing of pleasure, unless it involves looking in a mirror. The most fucking he's done is with his own right hand. No, I'll be the judge of whether this omega you gave him is a good tumble. And as I can't have Wisp, I suppose I should take another--"</p><p>"My prince," Master Gervaise began to protest, but by then Nutmeg was wrenching open the door. For the second time that week, he fell onto Master Gervaise's carpet, graceless and alpha-addled. </p><p>"Lord," he begged, feeling as though he was burning, feeling the pulsing emptiness of his sore cunt. "Please, lord, use this thing. Use it like your alpha fellows did, lord. This thing begs you."</p><p>Prince Larkin had wild dark curls, one of which hung in a perfect forelock over his broad, vigorous young face. His brown eyes widened, and his wide mouth, very like his brother's, formed an 'o.'</p><p>"Why, he's desperate, Gervaise! You can smell it on him! Splendid work! What a perfect smell for an omega!"</p><p>-</p><p>Larkin could have set Nutmeg on fire and Nutmeg would have thanked him for it, that was the state the omega was in by that point.</p><p>Larkin did not do that. He did, however, bring Nutmeg to his bedchamber, a warm hall with a roaring fire, the walls all hung with animal heads. There the smell of sweat and effort lurked behind Larkin’s powerful alpha scent, somehow making it even more potent. Larkin's hunting leathers and heavy zeta-crafted pistols were strewn about messily, and several tau servants were in the process of ordering it all, but they stopped when the prince carried in a dirty, rain-drenched omega.</p><p>"Hallo! Reenit, will you draw a bath? I need one. And my whore needs one. Awfully nice, to fuck a whore in the bath. It was a fine idea I had, going down to get one!"</p><p>Nutmeg was so grateful he wanted to kiss the lord. When Larkin dumped him on the soft bearskin rug before the fire, he settled for crawling forwards and pressing his mouth with reverence to the prince's boot.</p><p>"Aren't you sweet?" Larkin said, eyes crinkling. "Rather like Wisp, aren't you?"</p><p>Wisp. Nutmeg couldn't think of Wisp right now. He was so, so close to getting alpha cock in his cunt, and that was all that mattered to him at the moment.</p><p>"Wisp is this thing's mother, Highness," he managed to rasp out anyway.</p><p>Larkin looked pleased by this.</p><p>"Mother! Of course! Wisp's been fat with pups, hasn't he? Funny, how I quite forgot that. What is this -- his third? Are you his first, then? You don't look like him. If you feel like him, that won't matter, though. Wisp sucks better than any lambda, even."</p><p>"This thing will suck you just as good, Lord," Nutmeg said desperately. One of his hands scrabbled at the swollen bite on his neck, but Prince Larkin didn't notice. The servants were now at a huge ivory tub before the fire, turning the taps to get the water started, and the prince was stripping off his clothes. He had a wide young chest and brawny arms, and his cock was long and thick, a proud rod between his legs. </p><p>He caught Nutmeg staring hungrily at it.</p><p>"You really want it, don't you?" he said, with a grin.</p><p>Nutmeg moaned.</p><p>"Lord," he managed. "This thing wants it more than life, lord."</p><p>For some reason, Larkin found this absolutely hilarious. Once he was seated in the tub with Nutmeg, he regarded Nutmeg's frantic mouthing at his cock with the laughing endearment of a man confronted by a particularly active kitten. He took his cock in hand then, and fed Nutmeg the big, hot head. </p><p>Nutmeg's lips stretched around it. His nose filled with the alpha-scent, a scent close enough to the one he longed for to make his cunt throb meaningfully. He began to suck the fat, fragrant prick hungrily, drooling on it, less miserable than he'd been in four days.</p><p>Prince Larkin's big hand settled on his head.</p><p>"What a smell," the prince said wonderingly. "You truly do love my cock, don't you?"</p><p>Nutmeg nodded, rather than pull his mouth from the cock. This wasn't the hole he wanted Larkin in, but it was better than nothing. As water filled the great tub more and more, he settled in between the youngest prince's legs and began to bob up and down on his cock. Getting the fat head in deep, so the rich alpha smell and taste could conquer him, choke him. Larkin was more than happy to help, seizing Nutmeg's long pale brown hair and directing him. Larkin was so strong that soon Nutmeg didn't need to think at all. Just bob and suck. The hot, enormous prick soothed him. All that thick, sweaty alpha flesh on his tongue and hitting the back of his throat. His cunt drooled into the warm water, and he gave himself over to pleasing the prince, hoping against hope that soon Larkin would fuck him in earnest.</p><p>Instead, Larkin lifted Nutmeg off of his cock. Nutmeg whined. His mouth and throat were sore, but it was like being denied a gift. </p><p>"It's getting too full," Larkin reported, for this was true. By now there was enough water that, with every frantic bob, Nutmeg had been half-drowning himself in order to take as much of the mighty prick as he could. Nutmeg was just too stupidly needy to care. </p><p>Larkin deposited a cake of soap in his hands.</p><p>"Well, go on," he said. "Wash me. You do know how to do it, right?"</p><p>Nutmeg's fuck-hungry mind aside, he did know. He had washed so many of his fellow omegas that he could do this automatically. Only Larkin was very different from an omega. Like his brother, one of his thighs alone was easily half the size of Nutmeg's torso, and his chest was a strapping, muscle-bound thing. Nutmeg exhaustedly soaped between each dip and rise of muscle, along the flat stomach and down to the dark curls at the prince's groin. He was gentle with the big, full balls and that lovely cock, and obediently soaped along the prince's crack and the firm planes of his princely arse. </p><p>Larkin took all of this as his due, as if he were used to being bathed like a child. He probably was. Alphas did not have to do anything for themselves. That was what the lower castes were for.</p><p>When Nutmeg got to the prince's curly head, he was given a comb by the servants. Then he had to focus quite a bit, to not cause any pain as he worked through the tangles. This was difficult, for Larkin's closeness, his power, and his enormous size were making Nutmeg's whole body taut with need. But he didn't wish to displease his lord. So he worked carefully, hands shaking, grateful that he had experience with Gem's thick curls, and Twig's too.</p><p>"Rub my back, will you?" Larkin demanded. "I've a knot there. I can feel it."</p><p>Here, too, the lessons learned caring for his fellow omegas aided him. He worked on the prince's back with a watering mouth, loving the hard, potent feel of the prince. Each firm massage made him think of the cock -- the <i>cock</i> -- the prince would be giving him soon. Enough cock to perhaps make this painful fire in him calm. </p><p><i>Oh, please. Please, my Goddess,</i> Nutmeg prayed. <i>Let it be enough.</i></p><p>Every thought like that added more sluttish want to his own scent, he knew. Luckily, Larkin seemed to like that. Once the Prince was scrubbed and groomed and sufficiently pampered, he rose from the tub like a young god, water cascading from the planes of his muscles. He tossed the comb back at Nutmeg, and the soap, too, and said, cheerfully, "Clean yourself up! Then I'll give you what you want, omega."</p><p>Nutmeg rushed to obey. He was scattershot with his own scrubbing, and harsh combing out the tangles from his hair. When he was done, Larkin threw a soft cloth at his head to dry himself, and he did this distractedly too. The prince by then was lounging on a massive bed, leafing through a very fine book bound gold-and-red.</p><p>"I have to make a devotional to Lupa next week," he murmured. "To my brother's health, for Kinbote is visiting at last. The priests have written that for the health of a secondborn brother a dead bear is best, and dead wildcats are only for firstborn. But Kinbote is essentially firstborn, don't you think? He has done the duty of one. The trouble is I do not have a wildcat. I killed ten bears this time, but not a single cat!"</p><p>Nutmeg really didn't care about that. This must have shown in his scent. The prince, shooting a glance at him, laughed again and said, "Well, you wouldn't know the first thing about it, would you? I just like to chatter. Father says it's my worst quality, that I am forever off on tangents like an omicron!"</p><p>He put the book aside. </p><p>"Come here," he instructed. "I'll sate you, omega. And you me. How funny, that Warekin was taken enough to sample you! Warekin is such a bore I hadn't thought he understood the pleasures of omegas. I know there are those who won't have you when there are lambdas about, but, really, you all smell so much better than lambdas. Like you were made for our cocks, don't you think?"</p><p>Before Lord Brindle, something in Nutmeg would have rebelled, private and furious, at the idea that all he was was a hole for alpha cock. But Lord Brindle had made him nothing <i>but</i> his hungry hole. Now he launched himself at the bed, breathing hard. His whole body needed to have cock. It was the only thing that made sense. He couldn't stop his eagerness as he climbed atop Prince Larkin, trying to line himself up with that glorious prick, desperate to have it in him at last.</p><p>"Hold on!" chuckled the prince, big arms pinning Nutmeg in place. His brown eyes were crinkled again with amusement. "Why, you're so randy you leave Wisp in the dust! What a whore-born you are!"</p><p>"A-aye, this thing is a whore," Nutmeg rasped out. "P-please give this thing your cock, lord, <i>please</i>--"</p><p>"I will, little bitch," Larkin said with a grin. "But not here--"</p><p>His big fingers found the folds of Nutmeg's cunt, dripping for him, begging for him. Nutmeg whined, unable to understand why his Lordship wouldn't just stick it in already.</p><p>"The Goddess says we shouldn't come in you here if we can help it," Larkin reported. "Or at least Her priests say so! It's wasted seed, isn't it? You'd only use it to make an omega pup. Omegas only make other omegas. I've always thought it such a shame, that your little slutbabes don't take on the caste of the sire like everyone else's children do! It's what makes you all so odd. But so few alphas are ever conceived that we must be choosy with the cunts we breed, mustn't we? No, I won't offend the Goddess. I'll take you <i>here</i>, like I always take Wisp--"</p><p>And he turned Nutmeg over like Nutmeg was a doll, bent the omega forwards, and pressed his thumb to the wrinkled pucker of Nutmeg's arse.</p><p>"Don't worry," Larkin said seriously. "I've some oil for you to rub on my cock, and in your hole. It will feel good enough for you."</p><p>The preparation was a novelty, a strange rare kindness that did mean the prince's big cock didn't hurt the way Lord Brindle's had.</p><p>But it wasn't good enough. Nutmeg clenched and wailed, rammed into the sheets, feeling the hot pole sliding in and out of his arse. Stretching him beyond belief. And it wasn't enough. When the prince came inside him, he sobbed, miserable, wishing something, anything, would fuck his poor neglected cunt.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Nutmeg’s Request</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When the prince woke the next morning, it was to an omega just as needy as before.</p>
<p>Nutmeg had settled back into misery. He was not supposed to touch himself. Master Gervaise hated o-sluts who prioritized their own pleasure, and always forced Nutmeg to shy away from his orgasms, to do his best to put them off. So it was truly stupid of him to try and rub the little bean of pleasure above his cunt in an alpha prince's own bed, and to stick his fingers between his folds and attempt to end his ever-climbing want that way.</p>
<p>He did it anyway. He squirmed and blinked, sweating onto the sheets, drenching the prince's fine bed-linens with his own filthy omega slick. As the lamps burned low, his unseeing eyes blinked at the prince's glorious bedchamber: the arching windows, the crimson curtains, the painted ceiling. He failed to note any of it. He was as miserable as he was in the dirty nest. He could get no relief.</p>
<p>He was lucky that Prince Larkin appeared to be a deep sleeper. When Larkin woke, he seemed perfectly refreshed and unaware that his omega bedslave had spent a tortured night. He simply popped up, stretched, took a deep whiff, and cried out, "Goddess! What a scent!"</p>
<p>Then he turned to the sweaty, desperate omega lying next to him and added, quite seriously, "So Warekin chose a good bitch after all. You're a perfect little <i>treat</i>, omega. I smelled you in my dreams! I don't think I've ever spent such a good night."</p>
<p>He called for his breakfast, though the bright light shining from his massive windows suggested it was long past the breakfast hour. When the upsilons came with great platters of food, Larkin dragged Nutmeg to the fine silk cushions by his table. He dropped the dazed omega in a heap and prodded at Nutmeg with distracted instructions as he looked over his own breakfast. </p>
<p>Once Nutmeg, still so full of want, got on all fours and presented his arse, Larkin thumbed the omega's back hole again.</p>
<p>His thumb was thick, and Nutmeg's rim so sensitive from the earlier fucking that Nutmeg buried his face in the carpet to hide a whorish moan. He wanted a cunt-fuck, but the wanting made even other touches feel sharp and intense on his skin.</p>
<p>"Treesa, bring the oil!" Larkin called to one of the servants, in the meantime. "My whore will need it. This little rim took me so well last night, didn't it, pet? Right to the hilt. Now you'll prepare us again and take me once more. Would you like that?"</p>
<p>It was nothing like what Nutmeg needed. It was still something. Nutmeg nodded tiredly.</p>
<p>"This bitch would be honored, Highness," he said, not even a <i>thing</i> now, now just a <i>bitch</i>. Now knowing that was what he was. All he could think of was his poor needy cunt and how that rough digit in his arse was maybe a tenth of the fucking he wanted. </p>
<p>But he did as the prince ordered. This time, instead of bending him over, Larkin made him crawl back to sit on his cock, facing out. Impaled, as Larkin reached around him to grab at his breakfast, and at some broadsheet news from Skoll City. Nutmeg was made to lean onto the table and fuck his arse up and down, letting the huge prick slide along his walls, fucking himself while Larkin breakfasted. </p>
<p>It was the wrong hole still. But something about this position made Nutmeg feel the alpha's pole especially well. He sobbed, enjoying it despite himself. Every time he lifted off, the drag of cock in him teased horribly, making his cunt clench on nothing. But when he was fucking down, he would come to sit on his lordship's cock, the thick, veiny stand pulsing in his arse. It was slow work, taunting him, but so intimate. Like he was keeping Larkin's pole warm, attending to it like it owned him.</p>
<p>Oh, he wanted it to own him. Before, he'd only wanted, secretly, to be free, to have his mother and his brother and his fellow omegas free of the Goddess' laws, which said they were nothing but holes for the other castes' amusement. But now he understood what he was. He was a hot, pulsing sleeve to keep Prince Larkin entertained at breakfast.</p>
<p>His cunt clenched at the thought. Quite without meaning to, as he grunted softly and arse-fucked himself, he slipped into a small, unsatisfying kind of orgasm. A bare spasm that sated his roaring want for all of two minutes.</p>
<p>When it was through, he only wanted more. He brought his hands up to his eyes, elbows on the table, crying softly.</p>
<p>Larkin, meanwhile, was eating with one hand, and with the other distractedly mauling Nutmeg's soft little cock.</p>
<p>"Why-- what's the matter?"  he cried out, when he realized the omega was crying. It took him a few minutes to realize. He seemed to be deep in thought himself. </p>
<p>"N-nothing, Highness," Nutmeg said. "This thing is grateful for your touch, for your kindness, my Lord--"</p>
<p>This was true, and reflected in his scent, but Larkin's big head shook slightly, his chin rubbing the back of Nutmeg's head.</p>
<p>"That's not all, is it? You're so hungry for cock it hurts you, doesn't it? I could fuck you every minute of the day and you'd only need more, I bet. My Goddess, I thought Wisp was a surprisingly good fuck, but you're something else, slut! You can't think of anything but cock, can you?"</p>
<p>Nutmeg cried harder. Sobbed outright. But his Lordship was right. That was right. And even now, he was impaled on such a huge, wonderful prick, fat and hard and hurting in him, and he <i>liked</i> it. He didn't want to like it, but he did. His cunt was so wet he was sliming up the prince's sleeping trousers.</p>
<p>Larkin didn't seem to mind. He switched from mauling Nutmeg's cock to rubbing Nutmeg's back.</p>
<p>"Poor little whore," he said, sounding cheery despite the words. "What a dumb. wretched thing you are. I think I'll keep you. Do stop crying, there's a good bitch. You're so plain and skinny, but I think I'll fix you up to my liking. To start I'll feed you -- here, open up--"</p>
<p>He brought a spoonful of something light, warm, and creamy to Nutmeg's mouth. Nutmeg opened obediently, and briefly -- ever so briefly -- got to wonder at the taste of it. It didn't solve his bitch-want, or the pain-pleasure burning in his slutty arse, but it was a very small and welcome distraction, before he swallowed and went back to being miserable.</p>
<p>Larkin, meanwhile, was finally taking stock of the bitch he had sampled. </p>
<p>"You have a grace to you, and a sweet voice, and such soft hair, even if you're not as pretty as Wisp. But I'll have to fatten you up. I like an arse to jiggle when I fuck it. And we'll be fucking a great deal. I don't know how Gervaise did it, but he's made you just about the perfect fuck-slave, hasn't he?"</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>Even despite the prince's plain, clear pronouncements that morning, it took Nutmeg several days to understand that Prince Larkin really had no intention of returning him to the omega quarters. At least not for a while yet.</p>
<p>The Prince was an alpha. This meant he was healthy, vigorous, powerful, and extremely randy. He was like his father Lord Raskin, who was said to sleep with at least three lambdas every night. He didn't strictly need to stick his cock in a hole at all times, no, but to do so was his absolute preference. Larkin simply enjoyed life more if someone was always around to keep his prick wet.</p>
<p>And, he told Nutmeg several times, it was a special pleasure if that someone smelled heady, sweet, and submissive. Smelled like a little cumrag, like Nutmeg did. Like they would rather die than not have the Prince's cock.</p>
<p>"Whyever did Warekin send you back?" the Prince scoffed once. "No, don't tell me. I know why. He's a boring prude. He takes priestly advice like it's dogma, and believes it offends the Goddess to fuck anything that isn't an alpha. I'll bet he hates himself for sampling you. Well, I don't hate myself a bit! Great Lupa made me an alpha, and that means I can take what I like. And I like you, slut."</p>
<p>"This thing is very grateful, my Lord," said Nutmeg, between moans and whimpers, bent over the Prince's desk in his receiving room, taking the fat cock from behind that day.</p>
<p>And though the prince didn't make Nutmeg's want for a good, hard cunt-fuck abate, Nutmeg really was grateful. Larkin's potent alpha scent and repeated need to arse-fuck Nutmeg took the edge off. Nutmeg was able to squeeze one or two orgasms from just having the cock in his arse, and Larkin didn't even seem to mind. And Wisp had been right about the prince. Larkin was not cruel. He seemed to have no interest in hurting Nutmeg, only using him, which was after all Larkin's prerogative. </p>
<p>After three days with Larkin, Nutmeg realized that his bruises were healing. He hadn't been beaten or kicked or backhanded once, as he was every day in the omega quarters. And, for all that he wished something would be pushed into his cunt, it was good that nothing had been. The barbed cock Brindle had made him take had left him with raised, swollen welts deep inside. Now those were healing, and there was less pain there. He could feel along his cunt-channel and marvel at how it didn't hurt even half as much as it always did.</p>
<p>And besides this he was fed sweet, rich foods, and could bathe with scented soap. He slept on the Prince's wonderfully crisp and soft sheets, and was even given a pair of slippers -- real woolen slippers! -- with which to pad over the Prince's painted stone floors. He did not have to crawl, or serve at a gloryhole, or give any performances with dog cock. All he had to do was suck Larkin's prick, and offer up his own back hole whenever Larkin wanted it.</p>
<p>He knew that the other omegas had sometimes been taken for long spells by fine lords. Bonbon often was by Lord Raskin, and the whole business of letting Wisp rest involved convincing Master Gervaise that Wisp was off servicing some lord or lady privately like this. But no one had ever before wanted <i>Nutmeg</i> for this sort of thing.</p>
<p>It wasn't perfect. Larkin, though he said he considered his brother Warekin a dogmatic prude, was himself a devoted follower of Lupa, with his own moral quirks. So he decreed that Nutmeg could not be paraded about naked before the upper castes, for such a thing was unseemly. Nutmeg was given a floaty red silk robe, which he soon learned to hate. He felt too hot to wear it. It felt like iron on his skin, and he wished he could be naked, held down, and fucked into abandon, rather than made to sit pretty in a fine robe.</p>
<p>Also, after about a day, he missed his fellow omegas desperately, and hated himself for not thinking of them sooner and more often. Especially his mam, Wisp. He was useless to his mother like this. He had a head for nothing now but cock. </p>
<p>When he could remember to, though, he worried over his mother and the others. He longed to send some word to them, to discover how they were faring. It could not be right for him to be here, coddled and well-treated, while Wisp was still likely so unwell. So this, along with his persistent hot discomfort and bitch-want, consumed his thoughts.</p>
<p>This was perhaps a waste. Nutmeg suddenly had the opportunity to learn more about the keep than he ever had before. Now he spent every waking moment alongside the Kin clan's fourth-most powerful member. Lord Raskin was their god on earth, Lupa's chosen to rule them all; and Kinbote was the Kin clan's axe, their representative on the war council in Skoll City and occasionally on the front lines against the leopard tribes; and Warekin was the faithful, pious diplomat and priest-in-training, the frequent envoy to Her cathedral in Skoll, and the voice that trumpeted the holy differences between every caste. </p>
<p>But Larkin did everything else. The prince listened to psi-on-psi grievances, oversaw the planting and harvest, planned great hunts for the higher castes, and visited each caste's shrine and each caste's Masters to ensure all was running smoothly and Lupa properly appeased by them all. He was a tremendously busy young prince, and so Nutmeg traveled now to nearly every corner of the vast keep. </p>
<p>He fell to his knees in the upsilons' kitchens, and sucked Larkin off while the Lord planned a welcome feast for his brother, Kinbote. He was on Larkin's saddle, speared on Larkin's cock, while his lordship rode out to try and catch a wildcat (with no luck, a disappointment Larkin later sated by again fucking Nutmeg in the arse in a muddy field near the forest). He took Larkin's cock up his rear in the zeta tower when the Prince had his pistols repaired, in the gamma hall while the Prince lunched and discussed Kinbote's welcome feast with a gamma godfather, and at the gravesite of the Lady Kinshasha-kin-alpha, the prince's adoptive mother, whose spirit was raised briefly by a crowd of epsilon necromancers in order to inquire her opinion as to the best floral arrangements for Kinbote's table. Nutmeg suckled Larkin's heavy ballsack all through a chi jester show, as the prince unwound by uproariously enjoying the jokes of the Amusing Caste, and licked delicately at the prince's arsehole when he went for his routine visit to his theta physicians (Larkin was pronounced healthy as a horse, of course).</p>
<p>"You know, omega," Larkin said, after several days of this. "You're such a good fuckpet, I think I'll have your cock pierced."</p>
<p>Nutmeg ought to have said, <i>That would be this thing's honor, my prince,</i> or <i>this thing is unworthy of such a gift, my prince</i>, because all of that would have been true. But something made him bold that day, and it wasn't simply Larkin's kindness. It was the fact that they had that very morning been to visit an omicron.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>As a caste, omicrons kept to themselves. They were scholars. Lupa's gift to them was the gift of fine memory, and so whenever an omicron was born it was gifted to the Master of Omicrons, who installed the child in the learning halls. There the omicrons grew, reading great tomes and memorizing all the knowledge all the wolflands had ever collected. When they turned twenty or so they sat for complicated tests, which separated them out into omicrons who were clever enough to advise the lower castes, omicrons who were clever enough to advise the middle castes, omicrons who were clever enough to advise the upper castes, and omicrons who were clever enough to advise the alphas. </p>
<p>Omicrons themselves needed no advising. They were not decisionmakers, only thinkers. Though Nutmeg knew they had the same lusts as all the other castes, since omicrons had no trouble availing themselves of omega cunt when they wished, for the most part they existed quite outside the daily life of the keep, staying to themselves unless called upon by another caste to solve a problem by applying rigorous, philosophical thought to it.</p>
<p>One such problem, to Larkin's mind, was how on earth to procure a wildcat sacrifice for his beloved brother Prince Kinbote, whom he idolized. So he dragged Nutmeg to the vast library in the learning hall, seeking, he explained to Nutmeg, a very clever omicron named Olakna.</p>
<p>She was a round, small woman with a short cap of white hair. Right away her fondness for Larkin was evident. Like everyone else, she smiled wide when the broad-shouldered young prince stomped in, though her nose wrinkled a bit when she caught the scent of omega just behind him.</p>
<p>"You are taking your pleasure today, Highness!" she clucked. "I'm glad you've come. I was just making a record of your latest hunting trip, so that future omicrons may learn of it. But stick that thing by the fire, not on my carpet. He's drippy, isn't he?"</p>
<p>"Who? Oh, my omega?" Larkin said. "Yes. O-slut, go over there, there's a pet. He's wet all the time. Can't help it--"</p>
<p>"Of course not," Olakna said, shrugging. "Heretto-brin-omicron, the fourth-century scholar who tried to save the first library of Skoll City from the leopard tribes, tells us that when a nameless omega dared to reject the advances of the great Retimor-Tim-Alpha, all the little beasts were cursed to drip at the sight of an alpha, dear Highness, to show them their place--"</p>
<p>"Oh, is that so?" said Larkin, as if such a thing weren't an awful bit of history (Nutmeg couldn't help but shudder when he heard it). Larkin flopped into an armchair by Olakna's reading table and said, "I have a problem with a wildcat, Olakna. I know there is one by the western mountains. My sigmas find its tracks all the time, and it is stealing psi sheep. But I cannot seem to track it! Of course, I could if I were permitted to Turn--"</p>
<p>Here Nutmeg's ears perked up. He had sunk tiredly down before the fire, squirming and miserable and hot as he always was, half-consumed with the trouble of his cunt, half-consumed with worry for Wisp and missing the other omegas.</p>
<p>But now his Lordship spoke of Turning.</p>
<p>Sometimes, Larkin seemed more than healthy. More than merely large or powerful. Sometimes his alpha scent swerved into something wild, animal. When he caught a young tau servant being unfairly berated, and was forced to intervene. When a pretty psi with a large rear end passed him in the courtyard. When he had grown frustrated at his lack of wildcat-kills, and each and every single time he stilled, his cock deep in Nutmeg's arse and his fingers tightening on Nutmeg's hips, the nails lengthening, his voice dropping to a growl, as he came and left a large, sticky load washing the omega's well-fucked insides.</p>
<p>Larkin was a very even-tempered, sensible sort. One who knew he didn't want to accidentally breed an omega. But when he got close to great emotion, he got closer to his gift, to the wolf-form the Goddess had placed deep inside him.</p>
<p>A wolf wouldn't care what hole it fucked. Nutmeg, suddenly realizing this and feeling giddy and cunning, had to cover his mouth with his hands from glee.</p>
<p>But Olakna was dashing all his sudden hopes.</p>
<p>"You know you cannot Turn, Highness! The fragments we have preserved of the great Skoll King, Finbar-fin-alpha, tell us--"</p>
<p>"Yes, yes, that the Turning will give true and perfect power only when it is used for three things," Larkin snapped. "Protecting the wolflands, mating the worthy, and the gift-freely-given. But we don't even know what he meant by the gift-freely-given! Do you? In all your reading and learning, not even the omicrons know! Could not a gift-freely-given be, I don't know, perhaps a very nice thing one wishes to do for one's brother, the current heir--"</p>
<p>"Highness, not even you can twist Lupa's laws to suit your own purposes," Olakna said frostily. "There is no possible reading of the ancient texts which would make it permissible for an alpha, one who has not yet won the right to Turn, to do so only so he might use Her greatest gift for mere hunting and tracking. If it had been, She would have given the ability to Turn to the sigmas!"</p>
<p>"But I cannot scent a wildcat with my regular human nose!" Larkin near-whined now, running a hand through his wild curls with frustration. "You are telling me that only an alpha who meets Finbar-fin-alpha's criteria is permitted to Turn and use his wolf's nose, but of course the only alpha here who can do that is Kinbote, for <i>he</i>'s the one father decreed must protect us all! I can't ask Kinbote to go out and hunt his own sacrifice--"</p>
<p>"Prince Kinbote would be the only one allowed by any measure, metric, and moral," Olakna declared, stamping her small slippered foot, secure in the knowledge that let her contradict even her prince. "You are attempting to confound the basic algebraic principle, my Lord Larkin. If we perceive that <i>x</i> is the prince who has Lupa's permission to Turn, and <i>y</i> is the prince who does not, with <i>x</i> being defined as a prince who has completed three conditions: <i>a</i>, protection; <i>b</i>, Lupa-sanctified mating -- likely mating of an alpha or fellow lord, for who else could be worthy?-- and <i>c</i>, the gift-freely-given, a true unknown for which we cannot solve, regrettably, as the mathematical understanding to do so was lost with the burning of Skoll library or before, well! Then it is clear! <i>X</i> equals my Lord Kinbote, and <i>y</i> equals you!"</p>
<p>Olakna was very animated about this, and picked up a slate and even diagrammed it for the prince, caught up in an omicron's passion for mathematics. But then she calmed.</p>
<p>"Also," she added carefully, "He's been fighting snow leopards since he was sent away at ten years old. I promise you, my prince. Lord Kinbote has likely had enough of wildcats, and will be very pleased with the twenty-eight bears you've already killed for him."</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>Of course, the only balm to the prince's disappointment was fucking. When they returned to Larkin's chambers, Nutmeg was bent over an armchair and plowed again, this time without even a moment to prep himself. Not that he needed to. He had oiled himself earlier, and his arse was sticky and well-coated with alpha cum, from earlier rounds of fucking. And Larkin, who was thoughtful for an alpha, ran a hand down Nutmeg's needy cunt and collected the slick there, and used it to coat his own prick before plunging it in. </p>
<p>He took his pleasure roughly, with purpose. Like it was his right, which it was. Nutmeg, disappointed by Olakna forestalling any Turning from the prince, bore it with obedient pliability, letting the thrusts shake his body to and fro, focusing on the slide of that big cock in him. Larkin kept a grip on his soft cock again today, a near-painful one. The alpha lordling had confided in Nutmeg that he thought it was a shame the keep's omegas were chemically castrated, and that he wished he could make the little o-slut come properly from an arse-fucking, like one could do with pretty men of the other castes. Now he was disappointed over that and disappointed over being unable to Turn, and, as Nutmeg was also disappointed over the latter, his scent matched Larkin's in that respect. </p>
<p>This turned out to please the prince. When he had come inside Nutmeg again with a groan, he collapsed in the armchair and pulled the skinny omega onto his lap. </p>
<p>"You're unhappy for me, aren't you, my little bitch? Oh, <i>I'm</i> unhappy for me! I did want to do something special for Kinbote! But at least I have something special for me. A nice, sensitive little slut like you. You know, omega. You're such a good fuckpet, I think I'll have your cock pierced."</p>
<p>He clearly said this hoping to lift Nutmeg's spirits by the honor. But this wasn't what Nutmeg wanted. What Nutmeg wanted was to to get that massive cock in his cunt for once, so that he might stop the feverish need that had taken over all his thoughts. And Nutmeg wanted to go back to his mother, and his brother, and his family. And Nutmeg wanted Wisp to be <i>well</i>--</p>
<p>Larkin took a deep sniff, and frowned.</p>
<p>"...omega? Do you not <i>want</i> the gift I would give you?"</p>
<p>Larkin would smell a lie on him, if Nutmeg protested and said he did want it. Larkin was an alpha, and had better scent than Master Gervaise, who could be tricked. So Nutmeg didn't dare lie. Instead he thought very, very quickly.</p>
<p>Of the algebraic principle. <i>X</i>, that was a gift he wanted, and <i>y</i> a gift he did not wish for. <i>X</i> could be defined in three ways: <i>a</i>, being fucked in his cunt until he saw stars, which would not happen. <i>B</i>, being returned to his family, but without being made to suffer the degradations of the omega quarters. Being permitted to be free with them. This also would not happen. And <i>c</i>, knowing at least that his mother could be safe, cared for, and well.</p>
<p>"Lord Larkin," Nutmeg said carefully, and absolutely truthfully, "To be pierced by you would be an honor. But -- but there is a greater gift I long for, my prince. I -- I must beg you, my prince, to help me. And to help my mother, Wisp."</p>
<p>For once, he forgot to call himself a thing. It was if, in seeing a way forward for Wisp, Nutmeg finally felt as if he were a person.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Reunions and Homecomings</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When he was done explaining, Nutmeg thought Larkin would drag him back to the omega quarters and leave him there.</p>
<p>He would have submitted. It was not right for a creature so low as him to make a request of the alpha lord. And, in any case, he could have comforted himself knowing that, by offending Larkin with his presumption, at least he would have been restored to his family. Wisp, Twig and the children, and Bonbon, Patch, Pocket, and Dainty. </p>
<p>But Prince Larkin did not seem offended, and had no intention of returning Nutmeg. Instead, he took the request to aid Wisp with surprising calm. He said that Nutmeg would stay in his chambers. Nutmeg wasn't needed to fetch Wisp, and Larkin said that he didn't suppose the omega quarters would be large or hard to navigate, and that if they were, well, he could very easily demand that someone go in the nest and pull out the weakened, sick omega. </p>
<p>"Do sit tight, o--No. I suppose that if Wisp is to come here, and there are to be two of you, I will need to call you something besides omega. Pet will do. Of course, Wisp was my pet before, but it does sound like he'll be no use at all for fucking right now. No, we shall have to have him looked at by a physician. Sit tight, Pet. I will get him."</p>
<p>And it was that simple. For Larkin, the world was easy, full of brimming possibility. It was as nothing for the young alpha to solve everything, everything that mattered. Nutmeg sat on the bed, clutching a pillow, anxious. And after about a half-hour, Larkin returned carrying Wisp.</p>
<p>Wisp had worsened. That was clear. Nutmeg gave an alarmed, horrified cry at how pale and clammy he looked. Wisp seemed to breathe only with very great difficulty, and even Larkin looked a bit stunned by his state. The prince carefully laid Nutmeg's mother on the carpet before his fireplace, and Nutmeg darted over to him, wringing his hands.</p>
<p>"Oh, thank you, Highness, oh this thing thanks you, oh thank you--"</p>
<p>"Er," said Larkin. "It's alright. Will he die, do you think?"</p>
<p>At this, Nutmeg couldn't help but burst into tears again. This seemed to discomfit the prince.</p>
<p>"I'll just get a physician," Larkin said hastily, and backed away again.</p>
<p>Nutmeg pulled Wisp into his arms. He tried to pat back Wisp's sweaty hair, and to feel along his mother's swollen belly. The child -- the little omega inside Wisp -- gave a faint kick, and that was a relief. One of them was alert. But Wisp wouldn't open his eyes no matter how much Nutmeg called for him, and he was so cold to the touch that Nutmeg despaired.</p>
<p>And then things became worse.</p>
<p>"What do you <i>mean</i> the thetas won't come?" Larkin boomed from the next room, after a few minutes. "I am a prince, Treesa!"</p>
<p>The tau servant's reply was anxious.</p>
<p>"Master Gervaise is not pleased, my prince! It seems there was a deception afoot. Already he has pled his case to Prince Warekin, and my Lord Warekin has forbidden the thetas from assisting you with this, and entreated the omicrons to find him enough holy law to mount a case on behalf of the Omega Master against you--"</p>
<p>"How can a middling little pissant like Gervaise mount a case against me?" Larkin shouted. "I am his better, and I am helping his bloody charge not to bloody <i>die</i>!"</p>
<p>But over the next few days, no theta physician came. And all the keep learned that an omega, one brown and devious thing called Nutmeg, had somehow been tricking his Master for weeks.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>Larkin ought to have abandoned them at this point. Even Nutmeg was quite sure that was the sensible way forward.</p>
<p>Now he would learn, however, that his Lordship Larkin was more stubborn than sensible.</p>
<p>"This isn't your fault, Pet. This is Warekin working everyone up over nothing!" Larkin groused, quite inaccurately, pacing the length of his bedchamber. He had called for the tub to be filled so Nutmeg could wash Wisp, and now Nutmeg was doing so. Larkin had also called for a warm set of bedding to be placed before the fire, and told the servants that under no circumstances was anyone to be permitted to remove either omega from his room. They would both be staying with him for the time being, until he saw a way to strike back against the machinations of his elder brother.</p>
<p>"Warekin," he snapped out, his scent crackling with animal rage, "is and has always been jealous of Kinbote! He knows Kinbote will be home soon, and it is like this every time my brave brother should visit us! Kinbote comes so rarely, and stays such a short time, and yet Warekin would like him not to come at all. Ware knows himself to be not half the alpha Kinbote is! Ware is so <i>neat</i> and <i>prim</i> and a coward, besides! Had he not been coddled all his life, he would have squired Kinbote like Kinbote squired Uskind, but he is spoiled, and was allowed to beg off! And I'm sure he knows his own inadequacy as a result -- he must!</p>
<p>"So naturally my lord brother must vent his jealousy at Kinbote and myself. And Ware is close with the deltas, for they're as sneaky and prying as he is, with that night-sight of theirs. So, naturally, he has taken up Gervaise's claims -- stupid claims! As if he could be tricked by an omega! -- and is making something of nothing, in order to overshine Kinbote's homecoming!"</p>
<p>"I tricked him, Lord," Nutmeg admitted.</p>
<p>He said it low. And, really, they had all tricked him. Bonbon, and Dainty, and Pocket and Patch and the children. Even Sir Yyls, for some reason. But he would not let the others take blame. And he did not want Lord Larkin to take any blame. </p>
<p>The youngest alpha prince was hard-working, and loving, and entirely free of cruelty. He treated his servants well, and was attentive to the requests of the lowest castes, and asked so little of Nutmeg. He was in every respect the opposite of Lord Brindle, who had reduced Nutmeg to the shaking, fuck-addled thing he was, and for one moment Nutmeg was miserable not over Wisp, but over the fact that it wasn't Lord Larkin who had nipped him.</p>
<p>He could bear it, wanting Larkin and never having him properly. He would think it a true honor, to want Larkin like that.</p>
<p>Larkin paused. Stuck his tongue out, tasting the air. The strong emotions, the omega desperation.</p>
<p>"Ye-es," he said slowly. "I...I can see you quite like me, Pet. I'm flattered. Er. What did you just say, though?"</p>
<p>Somehow, saying it twice was harder. The first time, he had assumed Lord Larkin was not listening. Now, he had to take several deep breaths, all while still soaping Wisp's long golden hair, before answering. </p>
<p>"I did trick him, Lord. Or -- I mean. This thing did trick him. There was no other way, Lord, this thing swears it! This thing's mother is not permitted a rest, Lord. None of us is, not ever. The Master works us like dogs, and if we are sick we die at it! At the fucking! Could not have my mam die so, Lord, so this thing did hide him and lie about it!"</p>
<p>And he was not sorry. He wasn't. He found himself clutching Wisp, crying into his mother's wet hair. Likely Wisp would die, but--but perhaps he could die warm and clean. That wasn't enough for Nutmeg, not really, but it seemed to be all he had accomplished. </p>
<p>Larkin stared down at him. The young lord's warm brown eyes crinkled with pity.</p>
<p>"But you're just an omega," he said, quiet and firm. "How on earth could you lie about anything, and be believed? Gervaise ought to have known better. Very likely, he knew he was working you all too hard. Not to death, of course. That sounds a bit dramatic, Pet. But obviously he's a hard sort of taskmaster, and not suited to leading. Deltas really aren't. No, no, he must have known you were lying, for, after all, your kind isn't clever enough to trick anyone. But, since Wisp falling ill would reflect poorly on him, he must have ignored the signs and let you <i>think</i> you were tricking him. And he cannot bear being made to look foolish over that now, so he goes to my crafty brother and gives Warekin a reason to lay charges against me!"</p>
<p>Then he paused.</p>
<p>"And on Yyls-kin-beta, for some reason. As if Yyls isn't three times a failure already. Low-hanging fruit. Just like Warekin to target that sort, really."</p>
<p>But this only increased Nutmeg's despair. He had landed Lord Larkin in a mess. And Sir Yyls, kind Sir Yyls, the best of the guards. He couldn't bear it.</p>
<p>"Please, lord, this thing is the one they should be charging! Please, tell them it was my fault, even if you do not believe it--"</p>
<p>"They want to charge you," Lord Larkin said, rolling his eyes. "I intend to tell them exactly where they can shove it, however. Olakna has already found me several passages on the foolishness of treating omegas like people, and if you aren't people, then you can't be charged, can you? Would I bring a lawsuit against a pet cat? A doormouse? An insect? It's all nonsense. And there are no legal penalties besides fines that can be brought against an alpha, so I shall be fine. The most they can do is say I'm impious and should pray harder to Lupa for guidance. Yyls might be punished, but really, why? It's all over nothing. I know your kind are so very emotional, Pet, but do try to calm down. It will all be fine."</p>
<p>Then, however, he looked at Wisp and amended this.</p>
<p>"It will mostly be fine. For us, me and you, my little pet. We can continue much as we have, which is quite a relief, since I'm so enraged over Warekin I <i>need</i> to have something to fuck, and you take a fucking very well. But of course I have no idea what to do with Wisp. And what really bothers me--"</p>
<p>And here his Lordship's voice rose to a growl again, laced with fury and indignation--</p>
<p>"--what really bothers me is that Kinbote's homecoming will be entirely ruined!"</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>It was to Larkin's credit that, over the next few days, as the keep continued to prepare for the arrival of Lord Kinbote, the celebrations now to be augmented by a court case involving the matter of the omegas, Larkin never once vented anger on Nutmeg.</p>
<p>Or, at least, not with outright violence. Larkin vented by fucking, by forcing Nutmeg to withstand rougher plowings than yet before. This was not the roughest sort of fucking Nutmeg had ever had -- Nutmeg had been fucking actual dogs since he was thirteen -- but Larkin was big enough that even a gentle fuck from him was a lot. Now, Nutmeg got used to the monstrous length jabbing into his arse at all hours, from the frustrated nights Larkin spent planning Kinbote's devotional ceremony and writing letters to Olakna about the case, to the mornings when missives from Warekin left Larkin disgusted. Nutmeg had to keep himself oiled at all times, so that his Lordship could slide his huge prick in with a grunt. </p>
<p>Nutmeg learned to be almost sated by it. To wantonly flick his little bead and come as best he could with that thick cock dragging along his back passage. It didn't make him feel less hot overall, less cunt-needy. But it was like he learned to live with the heat.</p>
<p>He needed to. Had he succumbed once more to the want inside him, let it overpower him, he would have been unable to care for Wisp. These days, Larkin did not take him about the keep. This only would have added to the scandal. So Larkin left Nutmeg in the bedchamber, after posting gamma guards at the door. And Nutmeg spent most of his hours holding his mother, keeping Wisp warm, crooning to him, coaxing what food and water he could past his mother's insensible lips. </p>
<p>Larkin was so kind as to even try and write to Olakna for advice on how Nutmeg might care for Wisp. But Olakna could only write back that Prince Warekin had anticipated that request, and flatly barred the omicrons from assisting his brother with healing one of the omegas that was the source of all the trouble.</p>
<p>Larkin was beside himself. He was so enraged he smashed a fist on his marble breakfast table and broke it. Then he pulled Nutmeg to the bed and fucked him bruisingly, his nails digging into Nutmeg's hips, his broad form stretched over Nutmeg's, his breath hot on Nutmeg's face. His cock fucking Nutmeg so hard that Nutmeg jerked on it, gasping, liking the painful stretch despite himself.</p>
<p>No. Nutmeg, foul thing that he was, <i>loved</i> it.</p>
<p>Being outmaneuvered by his brother put the lordling close to his wolf-self. Made him vicious, animal. Something about it was so close to the cruelty and power of Lord Brindle that Nutmeg came twice during that round, empty cunt spasming. When Larkin slipped out of his arse, he whined. He didn't just want it in his cunt. He wanted -- he wanted that spot on his neck bitten. He wanted to be claimed fully, not just nipped, and for a single moment he thought he understood what was needed to make that happen.</p>
<p>Lord Larkin flopped on the bed next to him, with a groan. Nutmeg shifted around the ache of his own well-used arse so that he could face the prince expectantly, as Larkin liked. Larkin touched Nutmeg’s chin briefly with a hand, gentle now.</p>
<p>"It's Yyls I feel the worst for, Pet," he said, after a few moments. "And Lady Yfair, the Master of Betas, she is so distraught! Horrible to see such a sweet old woman look like that."</p>
<p>"Sir Yyls does not deserve this. He is a good man," Nutmeg said, meaning it. </p>
<p>For he found himself actually replying now, when the prince began to chatter. He never had done this before. Prince Larkin didn't want him for his speaking ability. But the prince, for all that everyone in the keep seemed to love him, did not appear to have many friends he could actually talk to, and certainly not about something so serious as the suit brought forth by his brother on behalf of Master Gervaise. </p>
<p>He welcomed real conversation. As if he were -- as if <i>Larkin</i>, of all people -- was lonely.</p>
<p>"Yyls was done ill, pet," he now said gravely. "Of course, people will tell you otherwise, but I know the truth."</p>
<p>"Something that happened years ago?" Nutmeg ventured. "On the front lines? Against the snow leopards?"</p>
<p>Larkin nodded, folding his hands behind his head contemplatively. </p>
<p>"It was some fifteen years ago, or more. Yyls was the second-in-command of my brother Uskind's unit, which was captured by those beasts. They were all taken far behind enemy lines, very far, and tortured. Even Kinbote, who was then a child! But Kinbote managed to Turn and defend some of the unit, and escape with some others who he led to freedom. It was a great moment for Kinbote. He was sickly when a babe, you know, and mother and father hid him away from most of the keep until he became strong, as an alpha should be. So no one thought he had it in him to succeed in such an act of heroism.</p>
<p>"Of course, Yyls escaped too, but you see, it was different for Yyls. Yyls was expected to be the heroic one, but he looked out only for himself. He did not save anyone. Not even Uskind. And it is a great dishonor for a second not to die next to his liege lord."</p>
<p>"But that is unfair," Nutmeg protested now. "You mean he has been punished for not dying? For escaping?"</p>
<p>"Well, but why should he escape and not Uskind?" Larkin said, now arguing the other side. "Yyls is a beta, and a beta comes second to an alpha, Pet. And there was some question of why Yyls did not turn the energies he used for his own rescue to instead rescuing Uskind, as he was pledged to do! What use is all that beta speed, if Yyls does not put it to work for Lupa's chosen? So he was tried in Skoll City, and again here. Kinbote of course testified on his behalf, and so he was not put to death either time."</p>
<p>"But he was made to guard the omegas," Nutmeg said. "A great dishonor."</p>
<p>It hurt. How could it still hurt to say, to face? That the worst thing the other castes could think to do was post Yyls among the worthless? But still a part of Nutmeg wished it was not so, that to be an omega might have some value. He had no value. He existed to be fucked: a set of holes, no more. But he wished he were more. He still, perversely, sometimes even felt like he did. Against all reason and evidence.</p>
<p>Larkin mistook his sadness for himself and his caste for sadness over Yyls.</p>
<p>"Ah, my pet. Don't fret over Yyls-kin-beta. Father has said Kinbote will preside over the trial, so that is some good news. I'm sure Kinbote will save his hide again. But the whole experience will likely remind my brother of the darkest days of his life, which is of course what Warekin wants!"</p>
<p>It did always come back to inconveniences for Kinbote. Larkin worshipped his eldest living brother, and so Nutmeg had expected this turn, and now only said, "This thing is certain that Lord Kinbote is too great to permit Lord Warekin to cause him any discomfort," quite firmly, which had the effect of making Larkin brighten a bit.</p>
<p>"Just so! Kinbote is fifty times the alpha Warekin is. Oh, Pet, you are a sensible little thing, for an omega. But let's put your mouth to better use, hmm? Tomorrow evening Kinbote will be here, so I must rest. Warm my cock until I sleep, there's a love--"</p>
<p>"May this thing sleep with mam once you are resting, Lord?" Nutmeg ventured. Larkin was often kind enough to allow this.</p>
<p>"You may," Larkin said, gracious, and so after Nutmeg had suckled the big prick in his mouth long enough for Larkin to come a few times and then drift off, the omega was able to pad across to the bedding before the fireplace and curl up with his mother.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>Wisp woke in the night.</p>
<p>The moon was high, round, and very yellow outside the great windows. It was nowhere near morning, though the fire had died to embers. But Nutmeg woke because his mother woke, with breathy sobs and moans.</p>
<p>"Nut," came Wisp's weak voice. "M-my Nutmeg."</p>
<p>Wisp's cold hand scrabbled for Nutmeg's, and pressed his son's fingers to his rounded belly.</p>
<p>"Th-this thing is bearing your brother, my Nut--"</p>
<p>Wisp broke off. He began to cough horribly, and by the bright yellow moonlight Nutmeg was able to see Wisp's eyes briefly roll back in his head. With a cry, Nutmeg tried to prop him up. He felt between Wisp's legs, where there was already a pool of wet heralding the babe. Wisp blinked, coughing and coughing, until he could say, indistinctly, "I haven't strength, my Nutmeg. I--I haven't..."</p>
<p>He looked wild, and pain and fear permeated his normally-calm scent. Nutmeg's own fear was squeezing his heart. He managed to drag his mother to Larkin's great tub and start the taps. Water was needed. And Wisp needed to be dragged into the tub and propped against the side, as he had not the strength to squat on his own. And they needed clean rags. Nutmeg had only his silky red robe. He pulled that off and wiped at his mother's hole, feeling along it. Inside. Wisp's hole was still so taut and tight. The womb wasn't nearly so open as it needed to be. They were early yet. </p>
<p>Nutmeg knew, more or less, what to do. It did not even occur to him to wake Larkin, who would not know. Larkin would be no help, for he was a prince. But Nutmeg was an omega, and had been there when Bonbon bore Gem, when Dainty bore Sleeve and Pocket bore Keyhole. Then, it had been Wisp who midwifed, as the oldest omega present. But he had made Nutmeg watch and attend to it, and some of the others, too. </p>
<p>"Smart of you, mam," Nutmeg muttered now, hardly even realizing he was saying it.</p>
<p>Wisp was so weak the birth would not be an easy one. Nutmeg could see that. Had to face that, now. He crawled into the tub next to his mother and held him, keeping him in place, sitting against the curved side of the tub, legs spread, so gravity could help get the babe out.</p>
<p>Wisp moaned. The birth-pains were starting. And they would get worse before they got better. They always did.</p>
<p>"Quiet, mam," Nutmeg told him, as Wisp had often told the others. Then, to keep from annoying the guards. Now, to keep from waking a prince. There was nothing for it right now but for the both of them to wait it out, while the head of Wisp's womb opened. That wasn't instantaneous. Wisp knew it, too, only he was so disoriented he had forgotten. He was softly crying and plainly confused, clinging to his eldest child.</p>
<p>"Th-the pup, Nut--"</p>
<p>"Aye, Mam," Nutmeg whispered. "He's coming. Be calm--"</p>
<p>Wisp sobbed.</p>
<p>"Will lose him, Nut, I know it--"</p>
<p>"No!" Nutmeg cried, louder than intended.</p>
<p>The thought was horrifying. Such a thing really would kill Wisp, from sheer despair. For Nutmeg's mother <i>loved</i> being a mother. Loved the carrying and the bearing and the caring that he could give after. He always told Nutmeg and Twig that to have borne them was the greatest pleasure and honor of his life, that by this he felt Lupa had blessed him. He would take losing this child as a blow. And Wisp did not seem strong enough to bear blows these days.</p>
<p>Nutmeg held him tighter and whispered assurances, his own heart pounding like Wisp's was. Told him it would be fine, told him to breathe through the pain like he knew how. </p>
<p>But his own cry had woken Larkin. </p>
<p>Nutmeg didn't immediately notice. The one thing, the sole thing that could make him block out his need for an alpha was his mother, and so Larkin had risen, taken the scene in, lit several lamps, and begun to loudly curse before Nutmeg even realized the prince was awake.</p>
<p>"Treesa!" the prince roared. "Elreede! Reenit! Doreeda! Wake up at once! I don't <i>care</i> what Warekin is saying, we must have a physician, dammit! <i>There's an omega having its pup in my tub!</i>"</p>
<p>Naturally, no physician came. Nutmeg was far less bothered by this than the prince was, for he hadn't expected a physician anyway. It wasn't like any theta ever did help, with an omega's childbearing. So as Larkin stomped and raged, he simply kept holding his mother and soothing Wisp, checking to see how the womb was opening.</p>
<p>"My lord," he managed to say, between a lull in Larkin's shouting. "Please, please, highness. Do not trouble yourself. It will not help us, Lord."</p>
<p>Larkin came and crouched by the tub, face white with trepidation.</p>
<p>"So you think he will live?" he demanded, as if Nutmeg were an expert.</p>
<p>Nutmeg almost laughed from exhaustion and fear. He wished he could say he did think that, but Larkin would smell a lie.</p>
<p>"It is more -- more than I think he is past any help anyone can give, Lord," he said, and knew it to be true.</p>
<p>The water was hot, but Wisp was growing colder by the minute, his scent fainter. His heart was pounding irregularly, but hard enough that even Nutmeg could feel it. And he kept coughing. Big, wheezing coughs, that wracked his frame.</p>
<p>It was done. It was with the Goddess now. Nutmeg felt tears wet his face, and he closed his eyes.</p>
<p><i>Oh, please, Lupa,</i> he begged. <i>Oh please. Please. This thing is arrogant, and low, and doesn't serve You like I should. I know it. But please. Please. He is my</i> mam.</p>
<p>Larkin didn't give up, as he did. Larkin sprang up again and strode to the door, and bellowed for more servants still.</p>
<p>"Freenit! Reedani! Dammit, <i>someone</i> get us <i>anyone</i> who can help here! I will not have Wisp die in <i>my bloody tub!</i>"</p>
<p>Distantly, Nutmeg, head still bent in prayer, heard one of the servants reply.</p>
<p>"--Kinbote, my Lord."</p>
<p>"Kinbote is here?" Larkin cried. "Already? So early? Send for him! He can override Warekin, for he is the heir--"</p>
<p>"My lord Warekin apparently sent a rider to intercept him on the road, Lord," the servant replied nervously. "Lord Kinbote is--"</p>
<p>"Warekin got to him first?" Larkin burst out. "No! No, Warekin will poison him, tell him all sorts of lies, make him think--"</p>
<p>"Think you have gotten yourself in quite a mess, Larkin," said a deep, growling, new voice.</p>
<p>It dragged Nutmeg's head up. Or maybe the scent did that. It was the smell of something dangerous, something so frightful he whimpered, and almost let Wisp slide deeper into the wet tub. Almost. He kept his head, only just barely. But he followed the rich, heavy alpha-scent to the doorway, and stared, transfixed.</p>
<p>The man at the door was enormous: a great, hawk-nosed, firm-jawed, black-haired bear. Not handsome. Far less handsome than his statue in the omega theatre, and that wasn't handsome at all. His features were on bold, big lines, and ought to have been striking, but his left eye was scarred, and his right cheek too. His nose had clearly been broken more than once, for it was a blunt, frightful hatchet on an already frightful form.</p>
<p>"Is that--" the newcomer began.</p>
<p>"Warekin is lying!" Larkin said at once. "Whatever he has said to you, he is making it up, to cause trouble during what should be a week of celebrating you. Like he always does! And--"</p>
<p>"Quiet," snapped the massive alpha at the door, and he brushed Larkin aside like Larkin was a kitten. "You! Tau! Go fetch my camp physician, Ataleia, and tell her to come at once. She is just down the hall--"</p>
<p>"Oh, thank the Goddess!" Larkin cried out, seemingly not bothered at all by how he'd been shoved to the side like an annoyance. "Kinbote, you are our savior--"</p>
<p>"<i>Quiet</i>," Kinbote growled again, and descended upon the tub. </p>
<p>He was huge. So, so big that his shadow alone seemed to smother Nutmeg, and his alpha-scent flattened every single thought in the omega's head. Nutmeg could only cling to his mother, squirming, and try to bare his neck, to get the lord to see the place, the spot he wished Lord Kinbote would bite him--</p>
<p>Lord Kinbote did not bite him. Lord Kinbote picked him up like he was nothing, and calmly separated him from his mother.</p>
<p>When Nutmeg realized it was happening, he felt insensible and betrayed. Betrayed because he wished to submit to the great alpha. But also because he didn't. Wisp was his mam, and needed him. With a shriek, he began to twist in the alpha's arms, an action that should have had no effect, except that Lord Kinbote was plainly not expecting it. </p>
<p>He backhanded the dumbfounded alpha lord. Even Larkin winced at it, quite shocked. And Kinbote snarled, "What a <i>mess</i>, Larkin!" as the younger prince began to say, "It's all foolishness, Kinbote--"</p>
<p>"They say you have been tricked by an omega--"</p>
<p>"Me? I never was! My pet would never trick me--"</p>
<p>"And they say you have taken an omega as a <i>pet</i>--"</p>
<p>"And what of it? I can take what I like!"</p>
<p>"And Wisp is in your tub, half-dead--" Kinbote roared, now wrestling with a frantic, stupid Nutmeg, who just wanted to get back to his mother. Or get away and hide. He had hit an alpha. He had hit an <i>alpha</i>, and that alpha could snap his neck with a <i>finger</i>.</p>
<p>"And -- wait, you know Wisp?" Larkin said.</p>
<p>"And this little bitch smells like he's half-claimed, and has a scar on his neck, Larkin, <i>what did you do</i>?"</p>
<p>"What?" Larkin said, bafflement written on his face. "How should I know? Wait, what are you talking about?"</p>
<p>But Kinbote wasn't done. He carried Nutmeg to the armchair, dumped him in it, and with one fluid motion pressed his thumb to Nutmeg's scent gland. The omega went boneless, whimpering, cunt clenching. He couldn't move for bitch-want. He stared up at the huge, frightening prince through wet lashes.</p>
<p>"Also," Kinbote growled, looking furious, "Did this <i>omega</i> just fucking <i>hit</i> me?"</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Kinbote</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Kinbote-kin-alpha, Commander of the twelve westerly regiments of the United Wolflands, Third Lord of the War Council of Skoll City, and heir to Lord Raskin, the wealthiest clan leader in all Lupa's domain, had begun the day on the road from Skoll City.</p><p>He was often on the road, for months at a time. Six months of the year he spent on campaign, and in the remainder served a term before the War Council. But every two or three years, as a matter of propriety, he was called back to his father's keep for a week before his Council term began. Lord Raskin hadn't had a proper conversation with Kinbote since Kinbote was nine or ten years old, but remained proud of his son's war exploits and periodically remembered to celebrate those exploits with a great meal and then a great devotional to Lupa.</p><p>So the only problem that loomed on the horizon that morning, for Kinbote, was whether he could, possibly, cut short the sacrifices to Lupa in his name. The last time he had been home his now-seventeen-year-old brother, Larkin, had insisted on an exceedingly complex devotion to the Goddess on Kinbote's behalf. The ceremony had dragged for literal days. </p><p>He loved Larkin. Everyone knew he loved Larkin. Some twelve years ago, when Larkin had first learned to write, Larkin had determined that the best use of these talents was to write biweekly chattering letters to Kinbote. And in twelve years Larkin had never let off. He wrote about hunting trips, psi disputes, shows at the local chi theatre. Ten million details of the Kin keep which Larkin, loyal Larkin, insisted the heir be apprised of.</p><p>Larkin was naturally running the place. He had run it since he'd turned ten himself. He ran it unselfishly, with no desire to inherit, no care for anything but his duties to the other castes; to his brother, Kinbote; and to their father, Raskin. </p><p>But fourteen bear sacrifices had been a bit excessive. <i>Larkin,</i> Kinbote had written. <i>Please. No fourteen bears this year</i>.</p><p>Meaning: Larkin, perhaps go catch me a chipmunk. Those will burn in half the time, and then I can be on the road to Skoll City again. </p><p>Or: Larkin, how about a mouse? I would be fine with a mouse.</p><p>Or: Larkin, here's an idea! Perform a sacrifice in my honor quietly, in your heart, and then we can shake hands, and call it a day.</p><p>But that morning, on the road, even Kinbote had known that Larkin wouldn't be satisfied with a prayer and a handshake. And Kinbote's retinue had known it. Scawmin the psi, Ingwret the upsilon, Zoree the tau, Tellusin the sigma, and Ataleia the theta were five of the fourteen who had been assigned to serve Kinbote when he had gone off to squire Uskind; for, as a prince, Kinbote had naturally been gifted a servant from each of the castes to commemorate his passage from child to adult. </p><p>These five were the sort of servants that loved to have their fun with the prince.</p><p>"A wild boar this year, I'll wager!" Scawmin cried merrily, from his seat atop the cart that bore Kinbote's gifts for his father and brothers.</p><p>"Oooh, yes!" said Ataleia, keeping pace with Kinbote's horse on her sturdy pack mule. "The smell when they burn it will be delicious."</p><p>"And Lord Larkin is a generous one. He always hunts for extra, to give the meat to the lower castes," said Ingwret, behind Ataleia. His crooked teeth spread in a grin. "My sisters in the kitchens will be asked to cook it, Lord! And then we will all feast!"</p><p>"Not you, though, your Lordship," called out Zoree, in the rear cart. "You'll be with the fine ones in the church, devouring the <i>spirit</i> of the kill! Hunting and eating the Holy Soul of the sacrifice, alongside the Goddess Herself--"</p><p>"Believe they call it 'fasting,'" Scawmin added. "I mean, that's what it is--"</p><p>"It is imbibing the dead essence of the hunted creature, in a holy meditative state in which one is transported by the power of the goddess to Lupa's forest in heaven," Kinbote growled out. "It is an extremely sacred sort of meal."</p><p>"A meal for princes," murmured Tellusin now, bringing his own mount forward to ride with his prince. "We could never understand it, not being blessed by Lupa as you are, Lord. How long did it take to hunt devour those fourteen bears on the spirit plane, last time?"</p><p>Kinbote shot him a dirty look. But Tellusin's tattooed face was entirely innocent.</p><p>"Nearly four days," Kinbote bit out. "Nearly four days, for the corpses to burn."</p><p>"Four days in which you hunted alongside the Goddess, and ate nothing but the finest soul of bear," Ataleia said, shaking her head. "Pardon, lord, but I'll take the meat!"</p><p>"And the festivals!" cried out Scawmin. "Four whole days of evenings free!"</p><p>"Aye, free for dancing!" said Zoree.</p><p>"Chi shows!" said Ataleia.</p><p>"And fucking," Tellusin finished, with a grin.</p><p>For while the lordly castes chanted and fasted and were elevated  in service to Lupa, the lesser castes reveled. This was right and fair, Kinbote knew. Great were the gifts She gave to his caste, and great was the price enacted in return.</p><p>Still, he could not help but regard the next few days at the keep with a sort of exhausted dread. It was all very well for his staff -- they would have real food, and parties, and joyous reunions with their families. Kinbote, however, would be expected to face his Goddess, and that was a thing he was generally rather terrible at.</p><p><i>You are going to simply adore the presentation Larkin intends to make you,</i> Kinbote's other brother, Warekin, had written. <i>He has been so very busy preparing the greatest sacrifice yet.</i></p><p>Warekin's letters were fewer than Larkin's. They could be so, for Warekin was in training to inherit their uncle's place on the Priests' Council, which meant that he and Kinbote saw each other regularly enough in Skoll City. Warekin didn't need to tell him all about his daily life in writing. Warekin could simply tell him in person. </p><p>Warekin still chose to send a rider to intercept them. Kinbote was to see his next-eldest brother in less than a day, but when the dust-splattered sigma wearing Lord Raskin's insignia pulled his mount up beside Kinbote's, he held out a creamy envelope sealed with the crimson-and-gold baying wolf that Warekin favored. Kinbote took it with a sinking heart, very certain it could not be good news.</p><p>
  <i>Hail, well met, with every blessing upon you my Exalted Brother, whose claws are sharp and teeth are sharper, whose scent is fine and growing finer, who--</i>
</p><p>This went on for four paragraphs. Kinbote skipped it. He could never determine whether Warekin included all these ceremonial greetings to annoy him, or if his priestly brother meant them sincerely.</p><p><i>Being this the occasion of your homecoming, so rare a jewel in our social calendar, when your presence calls forth the very excesses of joy and delight upon each and every soul in the Kin clan</i>--</p><p>Four more paragraphs. No, Warekin must be doing this to annoy him. In person Warekin could be very short, but in writing he often buried the lede. And yet he never did write without a purpose. Larkin was the chronicler, the one who simply wanted to share everything he could with Kinbote. But Warekin was a grown man, and didn't waste ink unless he ultimately had something to say.</p><p>So Kinbote skipped to the end. Warekin's loopy, flowery hand grew very plain and short there. Very to the point.</p><p>
  <i>--and so with a heavy heart I must confess:</i>
</p><p><i>I am not certain Larkin will evade the charges brought against him, and the stain upon his name which may henceforth follow him to the end of his days</i>.</p><p>"Charges?" Kinbote said dumbly. "<i>Charges</i>?"</p><p>He drew his mount up short. This forced everyone else to bring their mounts up short. Kinbote shook the letter at Warekin's messenger, who shrank in his saddle.</p><p>"Who the fuck would bring charges against Larkin?" he roared.</p><p>-</p><p>He transformed into a wolf, and left his horse with his retinue. As a wolf, he could make time better, run faster, run with singleminded purpose to the keep. He would not have to wait at the gate for a procession of servants and lords to kiss his boot and announce him to the assembled people, he would not have to be paraded through the central street as the favored heir -- he could simply bound over the keep wall, roar at anything in his way, and locate his family as soon as possible. </p><p>It didn't do to Turn for no reason. Even Kinbote knew that. But in times of emergency, the Turning came in useful.</p><p>And charges were an emergency. Larkin, who was so young, would likely not know the significance of bringing a suit against an alpha. But, as only another alpha could lay charges on their caste, doing so was a dire matter indeed. A source of scandal that could poison a young alpha's future absolutely. Their caste ran the War Council and the Priests' Council, the two bodies which together selected the Alpha King to rule in Skoll City. Every young alpha was a candidate for the King's seat by birthright, and for this they were called princes. </p><p>Kinbote did not delude himself into thinking that Larkin was, at his minor age, a serious candidate for the office. No one was, at present. King Morall-ora-alpha sat on the throne, was a hale and hearty forty-five, and was expected to live at least four more decades. </p><p>But someday Morall would die and join Lupa in the eternal hunt permanently. Then the Kin clan, and all the others, would be expected to put forth an alpha candidate to oversee the City and broker the dealings between all the clans. It was difficult to convince the War Council to approve a priest for the throne, and so Warekin was not likely to win the kinghood. And the Priests' Council only very rarely approved soldiers, so Kinbote was right out. But the Kin clan was favored indeed. Unlike many of the other families, who produced one alpha heir, two if they were lucky, the Kin clan had another son, a son already trained in brokering peaces and running a minor city. A son Kinbote had stridently insisted should be kept away from the front lines, kept quiet in the country, and encouraged in every possible devotion to Lupa (save perhaps one or two which might inconvenience Kinbote), for Larkin--</p><p>Larkin did not have to be a minor country steward forever. Larkin was bold, kind, and deeply loyal to caste and clan. Larkin was, in short, an obvious pick for kinghood, should he manage to avoid scandal for the next forty or so years.</p><p>But now another alpha laid charges against him. It wasn't to be borne. Especially since the only other alpha regularly in contact with Larkin was their own father. </p><p><i>He could not have...</i> Kinbote thought desperately, as his paws pounded over the dusty road to the keep. <i>Surely not.</i></p><p>But Raskin was not the man he had been, once. Raskin was very old and not terribly sharp these days. He didn't write letters, for his hands often shook too much to hold a pen. And when he did those letters were full of complaints: Kinbote did not visit, Warekin did not listen, Larkin did not attend. It seemed none of Raskin's sons could do anything right. So possibly there had been a misunderstanding. One Kinbote now had to set to rights.</p><p>He made it to the keep in half-time, an evening earlier than he had intended to. The sky was ink-black with a rising yellow moon, and the guards at the Eastern wall were changing their posts. They gave confused shouts to see the massive black wolf bound over their stations, thunder into the keep itself. Kinbote ignored their commotion. Even the lower castes knew the fearful sight of a Turned alpha, and knew not to get in his way. He pounded past shrieking servants and minor lords, up the great steps to the palatial alpha quarters, and then took the widest and grandest hallway to the widest and grandest tower.</p><p>Raskin's. Kinbote did not Turn back until he had clattered through the golden double-doors to his Lordship's bedroom.</p><p>"Father!" he roared. "I must speak to you at once!"</p><p>No fewer than seven half-naked lambdas fled the bed, shrieking and covering their pretty tits or impressive cocks. Raskin, blinking through a haze of mushroom-smoke, merely looked confused.</p><p>Then, with a grunt, he reached out and grasped a tray of sweetmeats, and tossed it with great force at Kinbote's head.</p><p>Kinbote dodged it easily. He had been more or less expecting something like this. Raskin was old, but not too old to fuck, eat, or over-partake of the speckled lupine mushroom which was used in church ceremonies to impart hallucinogenic visions of Lupa. This had likely contributed to his increasing erraticness, but as he was an alpha lord, there wasn't much anyone could say about it to him. Now he blinked fuzzily at Kinbote and said, irritated, "Y'frightened away my whores!"</p><p>Kinbote regarded him with just as much irritation. Raskin was enormous, muscled, dark-haired, scarred from battle, and rather ugly -- Kinbote had it on good account that he was therefore Kinbote's twin. Now, covered in sweetmeat syrup, lambda-stink, and the wash of his own pleasure, with his little eyes reddened by mushroom-use, he provoked a shudder in Kinbote. </p><p><i>Thank Lupa I will probably die on the battlefield before I become...this</i>, Kinbote thought, with perfect seriousness.</p><p>But what he said was rather more clipped.</p><p>"What is this business with Larkin?" he demanded.</p><p>Raskin scowled.</p><p>"How should I know?" the great alpha lord snapped. His thick fingers found a sweetmeat on his own thigh, and he ate it distractedly. "You're the one to preside over the trial!"</p><p>"I'm the one to <i>what</i>?" said Kinbote.</p><p>That had not been in Warekin's letter. Had it? </p><p>And from behind him, Warekin's voice now came:</p><p>"Oh dear," he said. "Brother. You did not read the contents of my note, did you?"</p><p>-</p><p>They were both banished from Raskin's room, once their father regained sense enough to do that. On the way out, Warekin waved in the waiting, frightened lambdas, looking over them dispassionately.</p><p>"He'll need more sweetmeats," he said to them. "He's managed to paint the walls with whatever he had left."</p><p>"I'd say that's precisely why he does not need more," Kinbote countered, still shaken by the condition of their father. "My god. He's deteriorated. How can you have permitted it, Warekin--"</p><p>"How can I have stopped it?" Warekin said, with a frown playing at his handsome mouth. "For Lupa's sake! Do you think I control him? I am not the Kin lord. I am not even the heir. No, do not blame <i>me</i> for your own neglect of father, or indeed for Larkin's failure to inform you of his state, as I'm sure he did so fail--"</p><p>"Larkin has never known him at his best," Kinbote said, for that was true. "Larkin is--"</p><p>"Distracted," Warekin put in. They were now in one of their father's outer rooms, a great dressing space with many garderobes and golden mirrors and a golden tub sunken into the floor. It was dusty with disuse, as though Raskin no longer bothered to dress as befitting his station. Kinbote stared around at it sadly, noting the grime caked on the closed windows, and the film of white in the tub. </p><p>Warekin, who had led them here, carefully brushed the dust off a silken chaise longue with a hand, then seated himself on the edge of it.</p><p>"Larkin is too young and foolish to look after the clan properly," he told his brother, short about it. "As I told you in my letter, in which I gave you every possible relevant detail of the matter--"</p><p>"Aye, Ware, sprinkled between a great many useless paragraphs of nothing--" Kinbote growled.</p><p>"I am so very sorry you dislike the proper forms of address and praise which attach to your station, but that is not my problem," Warekin said, flat about it, his cool green eyes narrowing. "I will not skimp on the respect Lupa demands I show you just because your little mind has a hard time reading very large words, Kinbote. The matter stands as thus: Gervaise, a delta Lord who has performed innumerable services to our clan as Master of the Omegas, brought me a very troubling account of Larkin. Did you know that Larkin has an omega pet?"</p><p>Kinbote blinked.</p><p>"You didn't say that in your letter, Ware," was all he managed to reply.</p><p>Yes, he had only skimmed the letter. But he would have picked out the word <i>omega</i>. It was one of those words that worked like a shock to his brain. It always had. Warekin knew that. When it came to omegas, the matter was best not raised with Kinbote at all, for Kinbote had never been able to be objective and rational about the creatures.</p><p>"I said what I needed to to keep you thinking sensibly," Warekin snapped now. "I am so sorry that I can never seem to phrase things in <i>just</i> the matter you require! But it is an omega we should be charging -- though how, I do not know; is one to bring a lawsuit against a garden slug? -- for an omega is all the trouble. It seems that Gervaise has been having no end of problems with a very devious and nasty little creature, rebellious in the extreme. An omega that does not know its place. That thinks itself better than the laws of Lupa. Not only did this beast conceal from Gervaise the extremely poor state of one his other charges, leading to the near-death of a very valuable bit of cuntflesh. But he ensnared Larkin in the deception. Larkin, you see, has decided that this evil little animal will be his pet--"</p><p>"That is no wrongdoing," Kinbote said automatically.</p><p>Omegas could be legally claimed, made pets. Kinbote had never claimed an omega himself, of course. He had once had an omega in his retinue, as befitting his place in life, but he had never claimed one. The very notion made something in him creep. The first omega in his charge (and that had been all Clasp had been. Not pack. Never pack; not even if he had begged for it) had died. And if he'd demanded a second omega, one to use as the creatures were <i>meant</i> to be used, likely they would have given him--</p><p>No. No matter. He hadn't tried to claim one for himself. It was just that he could have. He would have been within his rights to take and bend an omega to his personal pleasure, had he ever felt comfortable doing so.</p><p>"Father has a pet," he added now.</p><p>"Father has a plump little brunette he beats for fun," Warekin said, rolling his eyes. "And dementia. And even Father would not side with that creature against a higher caste. Even Father knows it is wrong to side with an omega against a delta, it is not only wrong but <i>profane</i>, Kinbote--"</p><p>Kinbote blinked again. He regarded Warekin. He normally liked regarding Warekin, for it was a pleasure to look at Ware. Not even for Ware's looks, which were like Kinbote's adoptive mother Kinshasha's had been, so bright they were blinding. But for the fact that this <i>was</i> Ware, was Kinbote's own family and brother.</p><p>But now he was beginning to understand things.</p><p>"Father did not lay charges on Larkin," he realized. "You--you brought the charges against him."</p><p>"Of course I did!" Warekin snapped. </p><p>"My Goddess," Kinbote said, his gut twisting with sudden anger, "You have risked our brother's name, our <i>brother's</i>, who by Lupa's commands is to be the dearest being in the world to us, and created a record of malfeasance that will attach to Larkin, and for nothing! Likely you mean to pester Larkin to get to me, because I am come home, and I am the heir--"</p><p>Warekin's handsome lip curled.</p><p>"So arrogant. Is that what you think of me? That I care for when <i>you</i> are in residence at the keep? Larkin is in trouble because of Larkin. He has done great ill to one of the higher castes, to a fellow lord. He learned of a plot to undermine the master of omegas and did he deliver the perpetrator to justice? No. He decided to defend the little bitch instead--"</p><p>"So what have you charged him with?" Kinbote roared, striking a golden mirror by the nearest garderobe, leaving it quite shattered. "Having a kind heart?"</p><p>"<i>Kind</i>?" Warekin bristled. "Weak! Weak and wrong. No, he will have to be punished--"</p><p>Kinbote strode forward and grabbed him by the collar. Warekin was large, as all alphas were, but to Kinbote he weighed nothing, for Kinbote was larger. He lifted his brother up and shoved him against a garderobe, hard.</p><p>"You would risk our brother's name over something so small?" he growled.</p><p>Warekin blinked at him. </p><p>"Don't be stupid, Kinbote. I don't mean to ruin Larkin's name at <i>all</i>. In fact, I mean to protect the family name, for what sort of laughingstock would we be if the other clans learned Larkin chose an omega over one of our delta lords? No, this is an opportunity to teach Larkin and the world that we hold the proper values. Larkin's punishment is plain: his omega must be put to death."</p><p>Warekin's lip curled again, but this time into a slow, slow smile. </p><p>"I told you, Kinbote. It's the omega who is to blame here."</p><p>He paused. </p><p>"Well. The omega and Yyls-kin-beta. I don't think Yyls will squirm out of punishment this time. Do you?"</p><p>-</p><p>After shoving Ware in a garderobe and locking it, and ignoring his brother's enraged shrieks because, frankly, for the moment Warekin could simply get <i>fucked</i>, Kinbote strode to Larkin's quarters.</p><p>To say he was enraged was an understatement. He was something worse, which was confused. This was a common result when Kinbote was forced to deal directly with his family, who, after all, he scarcely knew. What did he know of them? Only Raskin's turbulent lusts, Larkin's foolish youth. Warekin's...Warekin-ness. When Kinshasha had lived, Kinbote supposed she must have been a stabilizing force. She had even been able to occasionally control Uskind, he thought. </p><p>But the Kin clan was not what it once had been. There was a reason he returned home only for a few scattered days once every two or three years.</p><p>In the hall before Larkin's chambers, Kinbote met his own staff. They had evidently followed him on the road, which was a relief. But the relief evaporated when he stepped into the mess in Larkin's rooms. </p><p>On the front lines, there were often fourteen or fifteen cascading crises at once, and Kinbote had learned young that the simplest way to tackle them was to try to isolate the most pressing one, and work from there. Warekin, no doubt still wailing in the garderobe with his handsome face soured up like he'd eaten a lemon, was not pressing. Larkin, for all that it was Kinbote's very life to protect his name, was not pressing. Yyls-kin-beta, a name Kinbote had half-forgotten, was not pressing. He was in a dungeon somewhere, apparently, but then Yyls was used to dungeons, and would keep. </p><p>No, the thing that took Kinbote over completely was <i>omega</i>. And, for few long, enticing moments, one omega in particular.</p><p>The scent made his knees buckle. It was a thick, sweet funk of want, hot and heavy. A lure. Kinbote wanted to get lost in it. The brown, long-legged little animal -- with such pretty eyes, Kinbote noted distantly -- was giving off waves and waves of this need. Begging to be fucked, practically shouting it. But there was an unseemly degree of rebellion and fight and anger in the little form. When the pretty bitch actually <i>hit</i> Kinbote, the alpha lord could scarcely process it. </p><p>Warekin was right. This thing was absolutely, completely deranged.</p><p>Kinbote still wanted to fuck it. He wrestled the little bitch into place, finding the spot on its neck with which to immobilize it, and by then some of the creature's crazed emotions had begun to make sense.</p><p>There was a scar there. Faint, but not old. This thing had been half-claimed already, a claim initiated but never completed. No wonder the little brown omega was so mad. He was no better than a brothel-o down in Skoll City, for this was how brothel whores were made. They were bitten to make them needy, and then kept that way: insane with want, extra-pliable. It was a cruelty Kinbote had never approved of, and it made him aghast with Larkin. He couldn't even think where Larkin had learned a half-claiming was possible. It wasn't something a gentle boy of the country should know.</p><p>But even this wasn't important right now. There was another omega who demanded Kinbote's attention right now. That omega -- Wisp, it was Wisp, who was never confusing or cruel or demented or lustful or foolish, but who was sweet, open, and <i>good</i> -- </p><p>Wisp was the most pressing problem at hand. </p><p>So Kinbote scooped up the first omega, all smooth skin, glossy brown hair, and those <i>eyes</i> and that <i>aroma</i>, Lupa preserve them, and shoved him at a servant.</p><p>"Take him to -- to the omega tower, or wherever they're storing his kind these days," he snapped, ignoring the creature's insane wail of rage, and Larkin's protests, too. Larkin he banished to an outer room by simply overpowering him and shoving him out and locking the door. </p><p>This left Wisp, and that was what Kinbote dealt with first, although it was fairer to say that Ataleia dealt with Wisp. Her caste was better suited to medical work, so Kinbote simply listened to her, and saw her will done, and that was that.</p><p>"He's not dilating. We have to cut his belly," she said, and Kinbote, who'd seen many an organ sliced open during battle, simply said, "Very well," and ordered for someone to bring a knife.</p><p>"His lungs are full of fluids. I can draw it out, such as my abilities will let me, but he will need to be held down," she said, and Kinbote, an expert at holding down struggling prisoners of war and spies captured at the edge of the camp, simply said, "Alright," and applied himself to dealing with another thrashing omega.</p><p>"He will be very weak for a time, and will need a place to rest." said Ataleia at long long last, when the sky was painted pink-and-orange. And Kinbote, relieved, said, "Makes sense," and picked Wisp up, and brought him to a bed in the dusty suite of rooms reserved for the heir. And said, with a heavy heart:</p><p>"I am sorry."</p><p>He was. He really was. Oh, he missed Larkin and Warekin when he was away. Sometimes he even missed Raskin. But Wisp he never dared to miss. He locked away all thought of Wisp, for to think of Wisp was a special pain. And if he had ever seriously let himself consider the state of the little golden-haired omega, he was quite certain it would have been enough to draw him home. Away from his duties to the War Council, his duty to Lupa on the battlefield.</p><p>How funny, that Warekin hadn't known to write: <i>someone has hurt the omega Wisp.</i> That one line would have accomplished just what his brother's confusing letter had, and wasted rather less ink. </p><p>Now Kinbote kneeled before the bed, and took the cold hand in his large one. Breathed in the sweet, delicate smell, one which, more than Larkin or Warekin or Raskin, spoke of childhood, family, and home. Alphas were not supposed to see the other castes as part of their sacred circle, their pack. And yet Wisp smelled like precisely that.</p><p><i>Lupa forgive me</i>, Kinbote thought to himself. <i>I know I am meant to protect the Wolflands. But in another life...it would have been sufficient to protect this.</i></p><p>When he had wiped away a tear, he spoke, trying to make sense of all he had witnessed today.</p><p>"That crazed little animal tried to hurt you. Larkin must have bitten him and made him mad. Envious. The half-claimed can get like that. But for that omega to -- to reduce you, my bonny Wisp, to such a state as <i>this</i>? No. Warekin is right. He must be put to death. </p><p>"Once, I promised you I would say your name to Lupa in my prayers, intercede for you with Her. Did I not, Wisp? Did I not promise to ask the Goddess to see your needs met? Your pain ended? I have done you ill, for my prayers for you have brought you here. But I will keep my promise in one way. I will see Her justice brought against your tormenter--"</p><p>Wisp's eyes flew open. His cold hand squeezed Kinbote's.</p><p>"Kinbote," he rasped out. "Kinbote, <i>no</i>."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>A chapter without porn? Ridiculous. But I promise next chapter I will do better. We’ve introduced this ludicrously oversized alpha for a reason!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Trials and Claiming</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The first half of this chapter is very rough for Nutmeg and one other character! We are fully earning all of the tags here, and slipping a bit into potential Dead Dove for those two scenes. If you want to skip them, CTRL+F “In the morning”, and start the chapter from there.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Nutmeg was dumped at the Master's feet. </p><p>He was shaking by that point. The further away they dragged him from the alphas, from Larkin and Larkin's fearsome brother, the more his want seemed to spike. By the time he'd been returned to Master Gervaise's office, he was keening wildly, stroking himself, trying to thrust his fingers up into his cunt to meet the hunger in him. </p><p>Master Gervaise kicked his hand out of the way.</p><p>"Whore," he said coolly, while Nutmeg sobbed in frustration.</p><p>He needed. He needed so badly, as he had after Brindle had violated him. Being near an alpha had made things easier, for a time, but Nutmeg was still a bitch half-claimed. Incomplete. </p><p>But Nutmeg wasn't the only one sobbing. There was another, an additional pulse of steady misery in the Master's office. A scent Nutmeg knew well, now twisted into despair. Nutmeg's eyes snapped open with horror, and he gazed across the room at a space cleared before the fire.</p><p>Twig was on his hands and knees on the Master’s fine carpet, between four sigma guards. His skinny back was striped with lash-marks, heavy bruised welts that marred the smooth brown skin. There were two cocks in his cunt, prying him open. The guard beneath him jeered and twisted his nipples so painfully Nutmeg winced, while the one fucking Twig from behind smacked his arse. The sigma over Twig jerked his cock, pre-cum spurting onto the boy's back, and the one before him slapped Twig's face with his fat prick.</p><p>Twig himself looked barely human. Gone was the calm, bright-eyed boy that had helped Nutmeg look after Wisp, that had lavished such love on the children. There were dark circles beneath his enormous eyes. Drool dripped from his panting mouth. His gaze was glassy and miserable.</p><p>"High time we trained him, don't you think?" whispered the Master, bending down low to speak right in Nutmeg's ear. "He's past the age for it. And I have been short two sluts. I'm afraid <i>someone</i> had to take on your work and Wisp's, no?"</p><p>Nutmeg gave an unthinking wail. He tried to crawl to his brother, to help Twig. But Master Gervaise easily pulled him back and slammed him into the floor. His booted foot pressed down on the top of Nutmeg's head, mashing Nutmeg's face into the slats of floorboard at the edge of the carpet. Pain lit up Nutmeg’s skull. </p><p>"You have been a very naughty little omega," said the Master. "It's like you've forgotten how disposable you are, Nutmeg. No one will care if I kill you--"</p><p>No. That wasn't true. Nutmeg knew Larkin would care, good prince Larkin--</p><p>"--do I scent disagreement on you?" said the Master. "That won't do."</p><p>His foot slammed into Nutmeg's back. Nutmeg cried out, more pain now radiating across his whole spine. He tried to curl up, but the Master bent down and took him by the hair. Made him look again at Twig, vacant-eyed Twig who seemed no more than a bit of tortured flesh, who had been stripped of his sweet, quiet light. </p><p>"No one will care if I kill you, do you understand?" Master Gervaise said now, his eyes wild behind their dark lenses. "Not a soul. Least of all <i>me</i>, because there's another one where you came from, who I can use just as harshly. I've begun his gelding treatments--"</p><p>Nutmeg wailed again, unthinking. He remembered the special pain of being gelded, and couldn't bear the thought of weeks and weeks of thetas pumping prickling, painful poison into Twig's little cocklet, for all that they'd known it was coming--</p><p>"--and, what's more, I've had your brother broken in by the dogs, did you know that?"</p><p>Nutmeg shook his head, not wanting to believe it. Goddess, Twig had not even learned to take a <i>man's</i> cock--</p><p>"Oh yes," said the Master. "How he screamed, Nutmeg! I know you all whisper to each other, trying to give each other tips for how to bear a man's desires. But there's nothing that really prepares you for the dogs, is there? Nothing can. That is what makes a dog-show so fun, and your brother shall be the <i>centerpiece</i> of the shows now--"</p><p>"No," Nutmeg managed. "No, Master, please, this thing begs you, let me--"</p><p>"You?" the Master said. He smiled, his pale face breaking into merriment. "Oh, Nutmeg. We have a much more important show planned for you. Haven't you heard? Our own Prince Warekin has taken up my cause. I have asked him to of course restore Wisp to us, bring Wisp home. And to caution dear Lord Larkin not to fall for your tricks. But I'm an artist, Nutmeg. I also had to ask permission for one great show. You see, I'm falling behind the great artists of Skoll City. I've never been able to push my art to its very limit. And I think it's finally time we had a snuff performance, don't you?"</p><p>-</p><p>He and Twig were put with the dogs. Tied to each other, Twig on the bottom, so the kennel straw would dig into the welts on his back. Their legs were spread and bent so their feet could be frogtied to their thighs. This left them face-to-face, crying together, with their holes out and available. The guards chuckled and fingered their cunts roughly, getting the slick going.</p><p>Truncheon, Wat, and the other dogs strained at their leads, panting and whining eagerly. Trained to go hard at the smell.</p><p>"I want you to feel when they take him, my new little rape-pet," Master Gervaise said, patting Nutmeg's hair in a parody of gentleness. "I promise you, Nutmeg. Every remaining hour you spend on this earth, you will spend seeing how I intend to use your brother once you are gone. He's almost as plain as you are, but so much more obedient. It will be a special triumph to make him the bitch you should have been."</p><p>Then he whistled, and the dogs were let loose. Nutmeg cried out as a heavy canine form barreled into him, claws raking his back. A filthy, drooling cock stabbed at his arse. The creature nipped his shoulder, hard, and gave a howl that Nutmeg answered, for he could feel blood welling up. The worst of it was that Twig was crying just as hard as he was, Twig was just as terrified and helpless. Master Gervaise laughed once. He turned away with the guards, the kennel door slamming shut behind them.</p><p>This left the two omegas in near-dark, in the high-walled straw-strewn room that housed the dogs. All six animals nipped and fought and roared over them, but only two seemed to prevail. The heavy form atop Nutmeg whimpered, jabbed, and got its cock in his slippery cunt. It slid in with a brutal familiarity, an old torment that made Nutmeg choke out a breath. While this occurred another dog nosed between his stomach and Twig's, long tongue snaking out, slapping the smaller omega's mound and trying to lap up the slick.</p><p>Twig whined, shaking with fear and confusion.</p><p>"N-nut," he managed. The blankness in his big, striking eyes was still there. But his mouth tried desperately to form words, as if he were reaching for thoughts he could no longer grasp.</p><p>"Nut...please...it <i>hurts</i>--"</p><p>"I know," Nut whispered back.</p><p>His cunt had healed, in all that time with Prince Larkin. It had stopped feeling sore for once, had even tightened a bit. So now every thrust of dog-cock was painful, slamming him open and stretching him far too fast. He bounced on the rod spearing him open, hiccuping, the force of the fuck rubbing his sore, hurting body into his brother's. </p><p>Twig. Twig, who had never before been used, had been broken in this way. Raped like this until two men could easily shove their pricks in him and use him simultaneously. Now his skinny form trembled beneath Nutmeg's with pain and shame, and his tears slid between their faces as he bit out wrenching sobs. His cheek touched Nutmeg’s, bizarrely intimate, such a gentle touch compared to the pounding in Nutmeg’s cunt. </p><p>"Shhh," Nutmeg managed. Tied together, he couldn't offer Twig any real comfort. But he could wriggle, trying to force himself down a bit. Just enough to let his own holes overhang Twig's, to shield his brother's cunt with his own. If he could blanket Twig as the dog was blanketing him, then it would be harder for the dogs to use Twig's cunt.</p><p>The younger omega didn't seem to understand what was happening. He only kept crying. Nutmeg wanted to cry too, was a wreck of snot and tears himself, but it wouldn't help. It wouldn't help to lose his head while Twig needed him.</p><p>He could tell now that it was Truncheon fucking him, for the mottled legs and long paws on either side of him matched that dog. He crooned to Truncheon, trying to soothe him, as the other dogs nosed and sniffed and nipped at their faces, long tongues bathing Twig's cheekbone, Nutmeg's ear.</p><p>"Ugh-- <i>good</i> Truncheon-- <i>Th--thank you</i>, Truncheon," Nutmeg crooned piteously. "Th-this thing <i>thanks</i> you for your big cock--"</p><p>Truncheon gave a frenzied, prideful yip, for he was a smart mastiff. He didn't stop in his thrusts, and each one buried his swollen rod so deep it brought new tears to Nutmeg's eyes, but now he laid off his nipping. Understanding that his bitch was giving into him.</p><p>Nutmeg, for his part, did his best to arc his hips back. Offer his hole more easily. At the same time he scootched down a bit -- just a bit. That was all he needed, to have his arse and cunt stick out beyond Twig's. </p><p>It also buried Truncheon to the hilt. The dog's swollen, slimy ballsack slapped Nutmeg's arse, and Truncheon gave a howl of pleasure. Nutmeg grunted, and now began working his arm free of his bonds. Twig was still shaking, his scent plastered with misery, but after a few moments Nutmeg was able to wipe the tears from Twig’s face. Wipe his hair.</p><p>"It's alright, Twig," he said. "It's alright. I've got it--"</p><p>A big, curved prick -- Ninetooth's, it must be -- slapped his brother's cheek, but Nutmeg took hold of it and began to stroke it. Twig hiccuped and blinked. He began to calm, as it became clear that Nutmeg intended to take charge of the situation.</p><p>The dog that had been licking between them was now lapping the edges of Nutmeg’s cunt as Truncheon fucked it. The one being stroked off was whining and jerking, its slimy pre-cum dripping onto them. The others milled about, waiting their turn, as Truncheon fucked in with force.</p><p>For once, Nutmeg was glad his traitorous cunt seemed to long for fucking these days. He still wanted a cock. Needed a cock. Preferably an alpha’s, preferably a human’s, but if dog was what he got, then dog was what he would take. It filled him, at least. Nearly answered that hunger he had to be claimed. </p><p>So now the pain mingled with new pleasure. He stroked in time to Truncheon's hammering fuck, letting his entire body lapse into the rhythm set by the dog. The dirty animal prick slid into his hole, and the promise of the knot made his little cunt quiver.</p><p>"That's it," he panted out to Truncheon, giving into the fuck as a bitch should. "Aye, let this thing handle it, and leave my Twig alone--"</p><p>Little yowls of doggy agreement answered him. Truncheon thrust in especially hard, and something in Nutmeg twisted. With a small groan, he felt the pleasurable moment of looseness that came from orgasm. The dog fucked him through it in a parody of the way Larkin had, through to the other side, where his ever-present need remained.</p><p>"Nut?" Twig asked, after several long moments when there was nothing but the slap and squelch of his older brother being fucked half-stupid.</p><p>"A-aye, Twig," Nutmeg panted out. "I've got it."</p><p>He bit his tongue, so as not to cry out when Truncheon's cockhead slapped a good spot in him. So good.   </p><p>Twig seemed to believe him, despite everything. His big eyes looked more lucid, and his skinny arms struggled in their bonds, until they could close around his brother. Hold Nutmeg close. He pressed his thin face into Nutmeg’s hair, and a snarl of confusion entered his warm Twig-scent. </p><p>"Y--you <i>like</i> it, Nutmeg?" Twig asked, as if he couldn't understand why his brother smelled still of such hunger, and such desperate satisfaction.</p><p>Nutmeg closed his eyes. Shame hit him, sudden and absolute. Overtaking the pain, overtaking the hunger and the hint of pleasure. </p><p>The first time was the worst. Not the first time being fucked. Not the first gangbang, nor even the first dog knot. No, it was the first moment of realization. The first time one understood how an omega body couldn't help but give into the abuse. Revel in it. Like it. He felt a small spark of relief that this clearly hadn't happened yet for Twig, but that was nothing to the humiliation of knowing Twig was now seeing it happening to him.</p><p>"We're made for this," he confessed to his brother.</p><p>And then he began to cry, stupid and surprised, for despite everything he still wished it were not true.</p><p>-</p><p>In the morning they were both bruised, though Nutmeg far worse than Twig.</p><p>They had wrapped around each other by then, their bonds loosened by the constant pull and thrust of knots in Nutmeg's holes. Not just his cunt, but his arse had been knotted, the terrible pain offset by a deep sense that he <i>needed</i> a knotting. Not this knotting. No. But ever since Lord Brindle had bitten him, he'd wanted something like this. He'd come several times over the course of the night, each time shamed and hating himself. Twig had held him and begun to softly sing to him. </p><p>Wisp had done the same, after Nutmeg had been broken in. Someone ought to be singing to Twig now, holding and petting him, but instead they were pulled apart. Nutmeg cried out faintly.</p><p>Twig did not. He was accepting. His scent was very even. He pushed himself up in the straw and watched with calm defeat as Nutmeg was dragged to the door.</p><p>"Already he's a better bitch than you," said Master Gervaise, who was doing the dragging. </p><p>He snapped at one of the guards to feed Twig and then take him to the gloryhole. Nutmeg's last vision of his brother was of Twig looking small and resigned.</p><p>Nutmeg himself was taken to a part of the keep he had never been to before.</p><p>It was not as warm, welcoming, or brightly-painted as Lord Larkin's chamber. Neither was it as airy and cool as Warekin's garden. These rooms were high-ceilinged and still somehow felt heavy, containing all the somberness of a shrine. The walls were paneled with carved wood and the windows inlaid with stained glass, and beyond each wide doorway vast quantities of furniture lurked beneath white dustcovers. Servants darted in and out, drawing back curtains and beating carpets, but the room Master Gervaise kicked him into was already clean and full of some ten people, the walls scrubbed as bright as the dark wood could get, the great crystal chandelier casting additional beams of golden light over the marble floor-tiles.</p><p>Nutmeg hit the cold floor, and then the alpha scent filled him. He curled in on himself, as if by that he could draw it in close. It smelled like — like —</p><p>"Pet!" Larkin cried out. "Hang on, Gervaise, that cannot be necessary--"</p><p>Nutmeg gave a ragged exhale of relief. He felt impossibly warm in the core of him, to be so wonderfully close to Larkin's scent again, and he couldn’t help but sneak a pitiful glance up, eyes drawn to the young prince. </p><p>Larkin was so handsome. Tall, broad-shouldered, with that forelock of dark hair and a mulish, offended cast to his generous mouth. </p><p>“That is too rough!” he snarled to the Master of Omegas. “Pet is such a small thing, and you, Gervaise, you should know better than to treat your charges with such carelessness—“</p><p>“Quiet,” cut in another voice, very abruptly. </p><p>It was low and deep, but it did not need to be loud. Just hearing it hooked something in Nutmeg, something inside him. And now a more complex, lush, <i>powerful</i> scent than even Larkin's took hold of him. Nutmeg tore his eyes from Larkin, surveyed servants and omicrons and a tall lady in a fine veil, before settling, with some trepidation, on a sight that made his mouth wet with want.</p><p>Lord Kinbote, the enormous alpha that had pulled him from his mother and stilled him with a touch, was seated on a dais in the center of the room. </p><p>Nutmeg gave a tiny exhale. Just a tiny one, as all the fight left his body. In the light of day, Lord Kinbote's strong features and broad form seemed no less fearsome, but it was easier to make sense of him. Easier to understand why his scent swamped Nutmeg's mind, rolling over him and making his cunt twitch around the loads of dog cum painting his nasty insides.</p><p>Kinbote was...was enormous. Robust, brawny, and dangerous. Nutmeg, without thinking, turned his neck and bared his claim-mark to him. This was an alpha that could override Lord Brindle. And he wanted that. Wanted it so badly he couldn't think. He knew he was giving off waves of bitch-want, of need, and if he'd had more strength, he would have crawled to Lord Kinbote, as he had once done to Larkin.</p><p>Lord Kinbote did not even look at him.</p><p>"Scawmin, put the omega in the dock," he said, short about it.</p><p>Burly arms closed around Nutmeg at once.</p><p>A psi. Harsh-scented, unwanted, a disappointment. Nutmeg thrashed about weakly as Lord Kinbote snapped out terse instructions, as if Nutmeg were just something to be dispensed with.</p><p>"No, the other dock! Not the one with Larkin and Lady Yfair. Hold him in place. He'll thrash. He's half-mad. There, yes--"</p><p>Nutmeg was forced into a seat behind a waist-high wooden panel. As ordered, the big blond psi held him down. Lord Kinbote took no notice of this. He was too busy cracking his knuckles in his gloved hands and, with some coolness in his tone, addressing the other newcomer.   </p><p>"Now, Gervaise, you may step forward and give your account. I have heard from the others already. My brother denies all charges and the Mistress of Betas asks clemency for Yyls. So there is only to hear your account."</p><p>The Master of Omegas looked, for once, wary. Nutmeg would have marveled at it if he weren't too busy trying to get out of the psi's common-smelling, iron-tight hold. His body didn't want to be in the dock. He wanted to be--to be where he should be. At the feet of an alpha. He felt dizzy, staring from Kinbote to Larkin and back again, drinking them in, all his senses on fire. </p><p>A small, small part of him remembered Twig. And Wisp -- where was his mother? But most of him was just squeaks and reactions, as his body adjusted to the promise of a better fuck than dog-fucks. </p><p>How would Kinbote fuck him? How would Kinbote's huge cock -- for it had to be huge -- break him open, subdue him, make him understand his <i>place</i>--</p><p>"Keep him quiet, Scawmin," snapped Lord Kinbote. </p><p>The psi slapped his meaty hand on Nutmeg's mouth and pressed him into the hard wooden chair in the dock with some force. Nutmeg bore it because he had no choice. He felt so frustrated, but he wasn't strong enough to do more than thrash a bit.</p><p>Prince Larkin, at least, reacted to this.</p><p>"Come now," he cried from across the room from, his handsome face crinkling with pity. "It's not his fault! My little pet just loves a hard fuck, you see--"</p><p>"I know he does," his brother said, an irritated look on his scarred face. "He's been half-claimed, so he is mad with omega heat, as well you know--"</p><p>Larkin looked confused. Kinbote seemed not to note it.</p><p>"As for whether he's your pet, Larkin, tell me. Do you know his name?"</p><p>Larkin opened his generous mouth. Snapped it shut.</p><p>He never had asked Nutmeg his name. Nutmeg didn't begrudge him that. Larkin was an alpha, and such a good one. Larkin had been kind to him. Larkin had fucked him, held him down and thrust into him and blanketed Nutmeg with a scent rich enough and strong enough to momentarily drive away the need for Lord Brindle.</p><p><i>Fuck me, fuck me, fuck</i>, chanted Nutmeg's stupid mind, still tossed between want for Larkin and want for Kinbote.</p><p>"I call him Pet," Larkin replied, with dignity. All Nutmeg could do was nod and whimper beneath the thick hand covering his mouth.</p><p>Kinbote did not seem impressed by this.</p><p>"That's not a name," he grunted. His dark eyes passed over his brother and lit upon the Master of Omegas. With a nod, he said, "Now. Gervaise. Your account."</p><p>Gervaise's normally cool voice was reedy and whining, his white, florid face gone red.</p><p>"I am honored to give my account, Great Prince Kinbote, but I had believed Prince Warekin would be here to take up my cause. You see--"</p><p>"Oh, bother," said Lord Kinbote, deep voice not sounding bothered in the least. He grinned -- such a flashing, brief thing, gone so quickly it seemed like a trick of the light -- and turned in his chair, so that his black stare was angled at a servant who seemed to materialize from nowhere.</p><p>"Zoree, I did write my brother, yes?"</p><p>"Oh yes, Lord," said the plump tau woman who appeared behind him. "Such a long note! With such big words!"</p><p>"I have to make certain," said Lord Kinbote, slowly and deliberately. "Big words often confuse my little mind. But then Warekin is so terribly clever that I'm sure they don't do the same to him. No, if he isn't here, it's because he doesn't plan to be. So sorry, Gervaise. But you may have whatever assistance Larkin's omicron and Yfair's can offer. They seem to have done a thorough researching of all the applicable precedents in this case."</p><p>"Er," Master Gervaise began.</p><p>There was a pause. Something seemed to be happening to Master Gervaise's face. A twisting, strained look was coming over it. In another time, less needy, Nutmeg might have crowed at it, this look of cowering constipation.</p><p>But right now Nutmeg was miserable, and his body hurt, and he needed. So he settled in, and when the Master began to speak he was almost too overwhelmed to understand the words.</p><p>"I -- I have been deceived, Lord! Tricked! By a creature that does not know its place. You see, every day I labor in the omega quarters, overseeing the little beasts there for your father, mine own honored and -- and blessed Lord! But not every omega deserves my guidance, Lord. This one I brought before you, he has been bad, very bad, deceitful and tricky from the start--"</p><p>On and on he spoke, laying out Nutmeg's deficiencies. His poor character. His defiance. But several times he tripped over his words, trying to account for just <i>how</i> he could have been misled by an omega. And, in fact, Nutmeg had never before heard him sound so querulous, weak, and confused. Gervaise meandered his way through several accusations and half-sentences, and at the tail end of each one stepped back, as if unable to take Lord Kinbote's deepening glower.</p><p>"Ah, yes, the ill omega," Kinbote near-growled, when the topic of Wisp came up. "You need not fear. He is in the care of my personal theta. I do wonder that you let him get to such a state, however--"</p><p>"Not my fault, Lord!" Master Gervaise said hurriedly. "The malice of--of that creature--" here he gestured wildly at Nutmeg, "--and Yyls, who kept me from attending to our pretty Wisp as I would have--"</p><p>"What is Yyls' role in all this?" Larkin wondered loudly. He was listening carefully to the proceedings, his own stare just as cool as his brother's. </p><p>"I would think it would have to be a great role," Kinbote grunted out, for his part. "I do not see how an omega stands capable of so complex an emotion as deceit. Omegas have not the gifts the other castes do. Omicrons?"</p><p>Here stepped forward Olakna, who Nutmeg hadn't identified until this point, being as wrapped up as he was in the smell of the alphas. A tall, pale man in scholarly robes identical to hers came to the center of the room as well. They conferred briefly, and then Olakna bowed to the prince and said, "The best authority, lord, is the fifth century account of Janote-jan-alpha, Seventh Lord of the War Council. He decreed, in a suit involving similar omega behavior: 'The omega has all the natural trickery of my horse, and while my horse may defy me occasionally, it can scarcely be accused of lying or concealment.'"</p><p>Kinbote nodded, registering very little surprise at this. Larkin, meanwhile, looked relieved.</p><p>"All the same," stammered Master Gervaise, "this is a bad omega, very bad! I asked Prince Warekin to include a special request regarding this little slut, to cast an example for the others. You see, I am a humble artist, lord, and it would be very to the credit of Lupa, if in addition to the great devotion we do you -- twenty-eight bears, Lord Larkin, such a masterful sacrifice you have assembled! -- I was hoping we could do our -- our <i>own</i> sacrifice in the omega theatre--"</p><p>The alpha scent became sharp as a knife. Bright. Burning. It was a stabbing of anger, which Nutmeg felt in his core. It left him trembling in place. He stared at Larkin, for this rage must come from Larkin. Nutmeg couldn't match it to the blank look on Prince Kinbote's face.</p><p>Gervaise, however, stared at Kinbote. He took another step back, as if he sensed something Nutmeg did not.</p><p>"I have heard enough," Kinbote said after a moment, the words echoing across the room. He gestured at Olakna and her brother, waving them back. "Omicrons, you are no longer needed but for to bear witness. Larkin, Yfair, come forward."</p><p>Larkin rose. So did the tall, veiled woman who had hitherto been watchful and quiet. Larkin looked as though he wanted to shout something at Gervaise, and was only just holding back. The woman merely dropped into a low curtsey, head inclined to hear the judgement.</p><p>"Larkin," Kinbote said, steepling his long fingers. "You stand accused of collaborating against one of our Lord-Father's own appointed Masters--"</p><p>"Stuff and nonsense!" Larkin protested.</p><p>"--and for Goddess' sake be quiet, you are standing in the face of a scandal!" Kinbote said, surging up in his chair and causing Larkin to look very hurt. Then the great alpha settled back and spoke again. "Lady Yfair, your son Yyls-kin-beta stands accused of upending the laws of caste, with one prior charge of the same offense, so, my Lady, I will warn you that things do not look as though they will fare well for him."</p><p>Yfair gave a small, tight exhale. Then she murmured, "If it be death, lord, I have poison of the aavis fir, to let it be swift for him. Grant me leave to use that, if it be death, lord."</p><p>Kinbote only raised an eyebrow, as if genuinely considering this for a moment. But when the moment passed he leaned forward again, and settled his dark gaze on Gervaise.</p><p>"The omega also has some charges that some have tried to lay against him."</p><p>There was a pause. It filled the room. In it, even Nutmeg was still, for he had never seen Master Gervaise look so wary, so disappointed, so <i>small</i>.</p><p>Kinbote grinned. It was a dangerous, dagger-wide grin, bearing bright white teeth, transforming his scarred face into something more youthful and wild.</p><p>"These are the <i>silliest charges I have ever heard</i>."</p><p>And now his lordship snapped his fingers, and the psi holding Nutmeg in place hefted the omega up as easily as if Nutmeg were no bigger than his namesake. Nutmeg whined with sudden shock as he was carried over and made to kneel at Lord Kinbote's feet. The huge alpha leaned over him, still smiling his dagger-smile.</p><p>"I can smell him, ripe and needy, and all this little slut has thought of for the past thirty minutes is taking a knot in his hole. He lacks the wits to trick, to game, or to commit any crime, not unless the crime should mean getting on his back and spreading his cunt lips, desperate for a pounding. I cannot try him as a man. He is nothing but a bitch."</p><p>"Quite right!" Larkin called out, voice full of clear relief, while Master Gervaise protested, in a near-shriek, "Lord! I was told he would be put to death! I was promised it, Lord--"</p><p>But Nutmeg -- Nutmeg just began to cry again.</p><p>He didn't want to be this way. He didn't. He hadn't been, before Brindle had bitten and raped him. He had had his own mind, his own thoughts, and the full ability to preserve his secrets from the Master. He had been nothing, but he had possessed the ability to <i>think</i>, and that small grace had meant something to him. </p><p>Kinbote gave his upset only the briefest glance. </p><p>"Told you could put him to death?" he said, addressing Gervaise's claim. "By whom? Not by me. I do not permit that. I will grant you that I fully believe this creature has been wayward. Sluts can be naughty, after all. To kill him after that, however, would only be a mercy killing, Gervaise. To kill him would only release him from the heat that thrums through his very core."</p><p>And the big alpha's hand, warm and strong, traced again the scarred place on Nutmeg's neck. Nutmeg inhaled sharply, staring up at Lord Kinbote. </p><p>It--it was like his Lordship knew what had been done to him, understood it somehow--</p><p>Kinbote removed his hand.</p><p>"Larkin, you will pay Gervaise forty lupines, and give an additional eighty to his father the Master of Deltas to account for any slight to the deltas. Lady Yfair, your son is stripped of caste--"</p><p>The lady, her head still bowed, moaned slightly, as if wounded.</p><p>"--I can forgive one offense against Lupa's order, but not two. Yyls is now an indenture rather than a man, and his service is in my possession from this day forward. As for the omega..."</p><p>And now Kinbote's hot, predatory grin returned, and with a strange grace for one so large he stood. Nutmeg stared up at him, swallowing hard, at the long legs and huge chest, the bearded, scarred face.</p><p>"Master Gervaise, I hold the highest respect for the work and care you pour into your charges, which my brother Warekin tells me is considerable," Kinbote said. "I would never make you kill one of those charges just to sate Warekin's need for justice. Indeed, I expressly forbid the deliberate killing of any omega. It would be a poor way to repay your years of service by wiping out the training you give them. Thus, this one will be punished another way."</p><p>The big alpha stooped and gathered Nutmeg in his arms. His grasp was firm and hot and set Nutmeg's whole body ablaze. The omega heard himself making weak sounds, but could hardly understand how. It was like he had lost the ability to think.</p><p>Then Kinbote lifted him up easily, and bit right at the spot Lord Brindle had, and Nutmeg <i>did</i> lose it. His brain whited out, and he went limp and pliable, knowing deep inside him what was coming, knowing it on an instinctive and desperate level.</p><p>"Kinbote, what are you--" Larkin began, but his brother gave a guttural growl that silenced him.</p><p>"I have determined the appropriate punishment for this creature," Lord Kinbote repeated, still grinning madly. "From this day forward, I claim him as my personal bitch. Now he belongs to me."</p><p>-</p><p>There were protests from Larkin, stammering whines from the delta, and even a series of low, mournful sobs from Lady Yfair. </p><p>But Kinbote picked up on precisely none of this. He moved like a man possessed, turning on his heel and leaving Scawmin and Zoree to handle his white-faced brother. It was a relief to pass through the double doors to his inner chambers and hear the lock click behind him, the heavy metal of the doors serving to muffle any sound whatsoever.</p><p>Save the sweet, ever-so-sweet ones the omega was making.</p><p>The creature had come in his arms, right when Kinbote had bitten its scent gland. Its little cunt left trails of slick and wet on Kinbote's shirt. Kinbote did not mind this. The smell was heavenly, just as it had been before. Delicate, light, and full of desperate want, the smell of an omega offering itself to its better. Weak, thin hands clutched Kinbote's jacket, as if Wisp's child were afraid Kinbote might put him down.</p><p>Wisp's child. He'd had no idea. No one had ever told him, and he had never inquired, had never bothered to learn that Wisp had borne a child. This omega. Nutmeg.</p><p><i>Of the line,</i> Kinbote thought, <i>of Little Glove.</i></p><p>Warekin would say that omegas did not have lines. The omicrons would say the same. For omegas were not pack. They were not. They were scarcely even a proper caste. They were below castes, below anything. It was sacrilegious to find any real value in the freakish, dual-gendered class of outcast whores that Lupa Herself was said to disfavor. They were valueless.</p><p>Kinbote was still gentle laying the little bitch on the bed. His hands felt clumsy and too large. The skinny omega was shaking like a leaf, those striking slanted eyes of his tearing up. Though Kinbote's bite had sedated him some, he, incredibly, still appeared to have some fight in him.</p><p>"N-no, please, please use this thing, lord, please--"</p><p>"I will," Kinbote promised gravely.</p><p>He meant it. Nutmeg was suffering, longing to be claimed, but he would not suffer for long.</p><p>Kinbote undid the clasp of his belt and slid it off, tossing it aside. Pulled off his shirt and jacket, toed off his boots, and pushed down his trousers. Naked, his cock sprung free. It was half-hard, had been so since he'd seen the omega kicked into his receiving room. </p><p>Nutmeg was nothing like his mother, not as golden, not as delicate, but he was appealing nevertheless. He had long legs and a pert little bottom, and as for his disappointing lack of tits, well. That could be dealt with. Kinbote could make this work. Could make this omega suit him.</p><p>He would need to, in any case. He had given Wisp his word that he would. </p><p>When he climbed on top of Nutmeg, he got his first glimpse of true satisfaction. The boy was so small. Nutmeg slotted perfectly under him, submissive and needy, mouth drooling, cunt drooling, just a small, heat-addled source of <i>need</i>. His skinny legs parted obediently, revealing a wet, swollen cunt.</p><p>It smelled like--</p><p>Kinbote growled. He reached for the omega's long, silky hair and pulled the boy's head back, making Nutmeg whine.</p><p>"Have you been fucking <i>dogs</i>?" Kinbote chided. "Dirty. No wonder you were all bruised up and your master was kicking you. That's foul even for your kind, my little bitch."</p><p>But it was no matter. Kinbote would wipe the scent from him, would wipe the small offensive trace of other-alpha Larkin had evidently left on him, would wipe everything but Kinbote from him. Kinbote would complete the claiming his careless brother had initiated, and make it so the only heats this skinny slut ever felt again were those full of lust for <i>Kinbote</i>.</p><p>He bent his head and licked the boy's scent gland, licked, and nipped, and bit, drawing blood. Nutmeg shrieked beneath him. Kinbote surged forwards, guiding his cock to the boy's messy cunt, and plunged in halfway on the first thrust. That was how wet the whore was, how wet and ready.</p><p>Well-used. Soft, and giving, and so very hot, a tight band of warmth around Kinbote's cock. Kinbote gave a groan of pleasure, savoring the fuck, thrusting hard into the little bitch. His hands found one small pebbled nipple and he tweaked it, and in response Nutmeg clenched around him.</p><p>Coming again. Like it was ridiculously easy for him to come on alpha cock. Even though Kinbote was so large, even though the knot hadn't come yet, just a few good thrusts made Nutmeg shake and come apart. </p><p>Kinbote wanted to laugh. It was -- this was not like any fuck he had had before. He didn't generally fuck omegas, after all. Indeed, he largely kept away from them, their odd little forms awaking in him a deep sense of pain.</p><p>But this felt so right. This felt like Turning, easy and natural. This little thing belonged on his prick, was meant to take every fat inch Kinbote could feed him. Nutmeg looked pulled apart and satisfied all at once, pretty face slack with pleasure, and Kinbote knew that, if he liked, he could keep him this way. Make the omega feel nothing but pleasure, over and over and over, just like this. With every thrust.</p><p>By the fifth or sixth thrust, Nutmeg opened up. Blossomed, really. It wasn't just his wetness, or the softness of his cunt now, but the way he began to move, to accept the cock with loud moans of satisfaction. The skinny little omega was a bitch possessed, snapping his hips in time to the fuck, crying out thanks--</p><p>"Yes, lord, fill this thing, fuck me, <i>fuck</i>--"</p><p>Such a mad, delighted little litany! When Kinbote's cock blunted into the tight head of his womb, Nutmeg came again, spasming, warm cunt clenching. The inner rim gave some brief resistance, but only brief. When Kinbote fucked in past it, the tightness was remarkable. Exquisite. He slammed in deep and deeper, enjoying the clench, until his balls slapped Nutmeg's skinny arse and his cockhead was outlined in the skinny brown stomach with every thrust.</p><p>As if Nutmeg were just a sleeve for him. <i>His</i> little bitch, owned by him, with those pretty slanted eyes going wide, that red mouth moaning to see the poke of a big cock in his womb. </p><p>The slack, open surprise did it. Kinbote groaned, and felt his balls twitch. His cock had firmed up its knot, hard and tight with the cum he would deliver straight into the womb to complete the claiming. With one final slamming thrust, his hands locked on the thin neck tight enough to make Nutmeg hiccup, he drove in true. </p><p>Shrieking, Nutmeg passed out. But his hungry bitch scent crested, wild with pleased fulfillment.</p><p>Kinbote smiled down at the broken-in omega. Claimed. All his.</p><p>"That's what you needed, isn't it?" he managed to say, once his own hunger and high had abated a bit. He passed a finger along the thin face, its sharp cheekbones and heart-shaped mouth. "An alpha's knot for you. You're claimed now, my pretty slut."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>If you guessed this would happen you get a 🌹.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Unusual Gifts</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Claiming was not something polite society approved of. </p><p>Kinbote had once had Eknavys, his staff omicron, research the act in depth, searching out anything the vast libraries of Skoll City could offer on the topic. But there was pitiably little information on an alpha's right to claim an omega, but for a few scrolls written after the city was sacked in the fourth century. These simply derided the practice, asserting that it must run counter to Lupa's laws, that there could be no possible reason to tie oneself to the lowest caste. No, the process must exist solely to sate lust, which was certainly legally permissible -- alphas, as a rule, were not told to rein in their lusts -- but nevertheless somewhat socially frowned upon.</p><p>This was part of why so many chose to bite omegas and then abandon them. Leave them to misery and madness, to be used up or killed. But Kinbote didn't want that for Wisp's child -- Nutmeg. So he fucked Nutmeg for mercy, to aid the little bitch. To cure him of his hunger for a knot, of the torment that had come on him when Larkin cruelly used Nutmeg and left him wanting</p><p>Pleasure was a fortunate side effect of the process. </p><p>The knot left the boy stuck on his cock for a fair while, while his cum was pumped deep into Nutmeg's well-fucked womb. </p><p>Kinbote settled in to enjoy it. The boy put up no resistance now. He moaned softly as Kinbote shifted them onto their sides, pulling him in close. Where their bodies met, Nutmeg's cunt was stretched wide, the lips fluttering and sensitive. Kinbote traced the folds and got to see the pretty eyes blink open, tearing up again from the sensation. Nutmeg's wildly desperate scent had calmed now. Now it was nothing but light, perfect submission.</p><p>Natural. The omega scent felt deliciously natural. Their scents were intertwined now, his new bitch seeming to end right where Kinbote began. Now Nutmeg would belong to him, would fall into heats only when Kinbote was at his most wanting, would be sated from those heats only by Kinbote. Eknavys had said it would be like this with a claiming, and so it was. </p><p>This wasn't something Kinbote would have pursued on his own account. If he had wanted an omega to warm his prick at any point in his twenty-six years of life, he would have taken an omega for that purpose. But he was here now, and surprised at how right it felt.</p><p>By now he was as much a mess as Nutmeg was, his skin sweaty and tacky. But the pure delight of slowly pumping his cum into the boy more than made up for the momentary discomforts. The knot's slow unspooling provided a languid, easy wave of pleasure he had half-forgotten, for it had been some time since he'd let himself knot. He leaned into it with a contented sigh, and continued to feel around Nutmeg's cunt, taut around Kinbote's sizable cock. Just that, the place where they were joined, where the boy's hole twitched obscenely around the big, ramrod girth, was enough to provide Kinbote with a fresh wave of lust. </p><p>Oh, this was too -- too <i>good</i>. Too perfect. He felt strange and giddy, too large for the little thing in his arms, and yet just right. They were just right for each other. He had made this boy his own, and he could taste the thrill of ownership, of claiming, in the back of his throat. It made exploring Nutmeg that much more delicious.</p><p>He let his hands trace the slender back, the tight little arse. The puckered little hole between Nutmeg's cheeks felt hot and too-loose, somehow, like the bitch had taken dog there too. </p><p><i>Nasty,</i> Kinbote decided. <i>But very likely a product of your half-claimed madness, little o.</i></p><p>Then he let his hands wander back to the space between them, tracing around one narrow hip to find the small cocklet and miniature little ballsack, soft as it should be. Omegas were often gelded -- either chemically, with small doses of the slow vicious poison of the aavis fir; or else, for the sad creatures that populated Skoll City brothels, with one good surgical hack. He was relieved to discover that Gervaise had chosen the prettier procedure for Nutmeg, the one that left his cocklet intact but useless. And beneath the cocklet, just at the place where the wet dip of the boy's cunt began, was the little pleasure nub, also intact and -- to go by how Nutmeg squirmed and spasmed on the knot when Kinbote tweaked it -- fully operational.</p><p>Fresh waves of pleasure came, then, carried in on Nutmeg's pretty scent. The third or fourth time the bitch was coming in Kinbote's arms, by Kinbote's count. </p><p><i>Good,</i> Kinbote thought, dizzy with satisfaction himself. <i>Learn that. To come on my cock. I have given you a place in Lupa's order, little bitch. Trembling on my prick. That is your new purpose, my little cum ditch--</i></p><p>And he licked the pretty shell of one brown ear, quite pleased by how natural this felt, how correct--</p><p><i>No</i>, Nutmeg thought.</p><p>Kinbote's whole body tensed.</p><p>For a moment, he thought he must have imagined it. But the slack boy in his arms was shifting as he came back fully from his orgasm, his moans giving way to frightened pants. Nutmeg's gold-brown eyes were wide but more alert now, and his lush little mouth formed an 'o' of shock and dismay.</p><p><i>No, no, no, I don't </i>want<i> to be a cum ditch, I don't</i> want<i> to be made to be knotted, oh Lupa, oh Lupa, I want to be more, to be my own--</i></p><p>Kinbote heard himself make a strangled sound. It was nothing so lovely as the pretty, purring voice the omega had, a voice that came through clear even despite Nutmeg's obvious confusion, exhaustion, and misery. </p><p>Only the omega wasn't talking. And -- and claiming should have bound his scent to Kinbote's, masking it to all alphas but Kinbote's, making it as familiar to Kinbote as Kinbote's own scent. But -- but so far as Kinbote knew, it should <i>not</i> have let him hear the boy's thoughts.</p><p>And then he realized what the boy was communicating.</p><p>"Omega," he growled out, offended beyond belief, "Are you not aware of the mercy and honor I have just done you?"</p><p>-</p><p>The alpha lord was furious with him again.</p><p>Nutmeg scented it. He felt it. He even <i>heard</i> it, the echo of Lord Kinbote's deep, enraged voice banging around in his skull, his Lordship's thoughts even more colorful and angry than the words the alpha chose to say.</p><p>It was terrifying in every single respect. He tried desperately to get away, but Lord Kinbote was much bigger, and they were still tied together, his Lordship's cock pumping spurt after spurt of cum right into Nutmeg's womb. Trying to scramble off did nothing but make the knot tug at his cunt, hard, and it of course only made Lord Kinbote angrier. </p><p>"What is this?" his Lordship snarled, smacking Nutmeg hard on the arse. Tears came to the omega's eyes, more from shock than from pain. "I had thought you were mad--"</p><p><i>Fucked-needy and abandoned</i>--</p><p>"--and that that was the source of your rebellion! What are these ungrateful, sacrilegious thoughts?"</p><p>
  <i>And are you genuinely not pleased to have my knot?</i>
</p><p>The odd flashes of hurt his Lordship was thinking braided together with the fury he was venting, with each word punctuated by another hard smack. This left Nutmeg's arse smarting and red. It wasn't by any means the worst beating he had ever received, but the emotions made it worse. Being the target of the big alpha's rage and aggrieved pride made it worse. </p><p>He had managed to insult Lord Kinbote, his prince, an alpha, not once but <i>twice</i>.</p><p>"That you have," snapped Lord Kinbote. "Scawmin! Come in here at once!"</p><p>By now the knot had gone down enough that Lord Kinbote could shove Nutmeg off, the omega's cunt throbbing as the knot was pulled from him. Warm cum slid out, messy and pooling on his thighs. He hiccuped, frightened, and backed into a corner of the enormous sleigh bed, looking about desperately for an escape, any escape, and finding only that he was in a vaster room than Larkin's, and that all the doors were too far to run to and not be caught in an instant.</p><p>Lord Kinbote, meanwhile, stood, his enormous, proud form at odds with the confused upset on his scarred face.</p><p>"Scawmin!" he roared again.</p><p>The intricate metal double-doors at the furthest end of the room opened, to admit the burly blond psi who had held Nutmeg in place at the trial.</p><p>"Lord," Scawmin said, with a nod.</p><p>"Do we have the Warg pup I brought to give to Larkin?"</p><p>"Aye, Lord. Eating a nice bone, he is. Fed him myself."</p><p>"Get me his cage. Now."</p><p>"Where will we keep the Warg, Lord?" Scawmin asked, with a puzzled look.</p><p>"How should I know?" roared Kinbote. "In a fucking kennel! But bring me the cage!"</p><p>When Scawmin bowed out of the room, he rounded on Nutmeg. Nutmeg tried very hard to sink into the headboard, his terror overpowering every other emotion.</p><p>But there was no escaping the alpha's firm, powerful reach. Kinbote manhandled him to the edge of the bed, his tone deep and disgusted.</p><p>"Warekin and Gervaise were right," he said. "You are exactly as they described you. You're actually delusional enough to believe yourself better than an omega."</p><p>Nutmeg wanted desperately to disagree. But in a way, it was true. He despised being low. He wanted to -- to have a space apart from his caste. A place, if only in his mind, where he wasn't just a thing to be fucked.</p><p>Kinbote gave another growl of emotion, just as the burly psi shouldered open the double doors. He was carrying a metal cage, big enough for a very large puppy.</p><p>Or a skinny omega.</p><p>"There's nothing for it," Prince Kinbote said, still with that flat and offended look in his eyes. "You'll stay in there until you want my cock."</p><p>-</p><p>After an hour or so, his muscles began to cramp.</p><p>He was curled on his side, his arms wrapped around his legs, for it was the only way to fit in the tiny cage. The slightest movements brought his sore muscles in contact with the bars. So he could do nothing but huddle in place, feeling every pain in his body. </p><p>His scalp and back and hands hurt, from Gervaise's earlier manhandling. His shoulder was bruised by dog bites, and his rump scratched by dog claws. His holes were so sore he wanted to weep, from taking first the show-dogs and then the huge, hot cock of Lord-prince Kinbote.</p><p>The only relief was that his need was gone. Completely gone. Somehow, Lord Kinbote had cured him of the cruel claim Lord Brindle had laid on him, cured him by claiming him in turn. The way he had heard Lord Kinbote's deep, angry voice in his very thoughts made him tremble with fright, but he couldn't say that it was any worse than the way Brindle had left him. At least now his body felt like his own again, free of impulse and desperation, even if his mind had briefly seemed so much more violated.</p><p>Briefly. </p><p>Nutmeg had felt it, as his Lordship had stomped away. The further away Kinbote got, the more the angry thoughts receded, until Nutmeg was left alone in the cage, blinking at the big room around him, at its finery and at how many sheer questions he had.</p><p>Why had he heard the Lord's thoughts? Why had his Lordship claimed him in the first place? Why Kinbote, and not Larkin? And where was his mam in all this, and the pup Wisp had been trying so hard to birth? Briefly, every-so-briefly, among his terrified attempts to get away, he had come upon an image of Wisp in Kinbote's mind. Pale, unconscious, but quite alive, curled up in a warm little bed.</p><p>It was a recent memory of the alpha Lord's. Nutmeg knew this instinctively, for all that it seemed like one of his own wild fantasies.</p><p>But it gave him some strength. Knowing it was real, that somewhere the alpha lord had tucked away his mother, permitted Wisp to rest. For that alone, Nutmeg was pitiably grateful, and his gratitude made it easier to bear his aches, alone there in the cage.</p><p>Or mostly alone. </p><p>Now and then, the double-doors to his Lordship's bedchamber would open, and a beam of light from the hall would fall over a corner of the darkened room. Servants bustled in and out, stripping and replacing the sweat-tacked bedsheets, filthy with the scent of well-fucked omega. Starting a fire in the grate of the enormous carved fireplace. Tidying up the clothes his Lordship had carelessly dropped on the floor. </p><p>One, the tau woman from before, eventually came in with a pail of water and a syringe large as her forearm.</p><p>Nutmeg, huddled up still, let out a shaky exhale. </p><p>He was used to being flushed out. Quite used to it. It was part of being an omega, having the womb flushed. No one wanted an omega to take with pup. It would only make another omega.</p><p>Still, he felt his eyes grow wet as the woman came up to the rear of the cage, where she had access to his partly-gaping cunt. He heard the light splash as she filled the syringe with water, and the creak of the bars as she maneuvered the tip past the cage. The blunt tip was pressed past his sore cuntlips, slid into him. It went in deep very easily, he'd been fucked so loose today. It only made him tear up when it parted into his bruised cervix, but aside from that it didn't hurt. And he was used to the warm, almost comforting flush of water in him, sloshing into his aching hole and cleaning him out.</p><p>But the reminder of his place smarted. He existed to be fucked. But no one wanted the fucking to catch. No one wanted him to birth as Wisp had birthed him, to create another being devoid of value, worthless in the eyes of Lupa.</p><p>Even in the tightness of the cage, he was able to bring his hands to his eyes, so he could wipe at his face as he quietly cried. Now everything seemed to hit at once. His mother's illness. The horrible moments with Lord Brindle. Lord Larkin using him, and then the scandal of the charges brought by Lord Warekin and Gervaise. The birth, and <i>Twig</i>, and the trial, and the fact that by now there might be a new omega, a new little babe who might so suffer, which was heartbreaking to Nutmeg in this moment, and the fact that in a strange new corner of his mind he could feel a pull. A tether. A scent more knowable and familiar than any he had ever smelled before, though it ought to have been quite new to him. A link which, if he followed it, he knew would take him to Lord Kinbote.</p><p>But he could not follow it. He was in a cage. The tau woman flushed him and flushed him, making his belly cramp up tight and swell, until all the sticky cum inside him pooled out, and he was sitting in it. When she was done, she gave two light pats to his bare arse and said, "Sit tight. Get you a towel, we will, so you're not uncomfortable. His Lordship wouldn't want such a thing."</p><p>Nutmeg blinked.</p><p>Overwhelmed as he was, this was somehow funny. His tears were giving way now, to exhausted, drained little giggles. The tau woman was bustling about by a fine painted cupboard near a little door in the side of the room, but Nutmeg still rasped out, quite giddy, "Honorable, he has me in a <i>cage</i>."</p><p>The tau blinked pale lashes at him. She had a strong, pugnacious little face and a dimpled, floury-plump form.</p><p>"Aye," she said, very easily, "but he's not a cruel man, generally, so I expect you were naughty."</p><p>Nutmeg supposed he had been. He quieted, as she came and laid the towel beneath him, directing him with clucks to shift as much as he could so it would lay over the wet spot, under his sore bottom.</p><p>"It's a wonder how we'll feed you," she mused. "Locked up like this. Have to put a spoon in through the bars, I expect. Well, our lord can figure it out. He's a smart sort when he feels like thinking, isn't he?"</p><p>"Honorable, why did he claim me?" Nutmeg asked, staring into the gloom of the room and trying to understand what had brought him here.</p><p>The tau made a disinterested noise.</p><p>"How should I know? It's not my place to wonder why he does what he does. Did it because he could, I expect. He always could. He's a staff of thirteen, as befitting his place, but it could have been fourteen. Was fourteen, but he didn't use your predecessor. Not like his brother. But our Lord Kinbote was ten, wasn't he? And Uskind a man. Well, Uskind wanted to use those poor little things, and our Lord didn't yet, being young in age, but now he has changed his mind. It's not much of a surprise! That's how they are. Man of his years wants to have a wet little cunt to fuck, and now he has!"</p><p>And with this she was standing up and going, taking her pail and her syringe with her, with a sort of distracted air to her the whole time. Nutmeg watched her go, and watched as the door closed behind her, swallowing the beam of light and leaving him in the dark with his thoughts.</p><p>His thoughts and his aching body. Flushed out, his cunt felt strangely empty. And when he closed his eyes he remembered the way the big, hot cock had parted him, the gasp of near-total relief that had wracked his body when it fucked brutally into his womb.</p><p>He had needed that, he realized now, with another shaky exhale. Needed to be pinned down, bitten, and fucked to the point where his very core submitted to it. That was what his body had been begging for, for an alpha to mark him in his most secret, inner place. He couldn't twist to get a hand on his belly, not in this position, but if he could have, he would have traced out the spot. The place where he'd bulged with the tip of Lord Kinbote's enormous prick, speared open and fucked to the point where no other alpha could ever possibly matter.</p><p>It had felt so right. It had felt like he was born to be Lord Kinbote's omega. And now the heady scent of the alpha stayed with him, clinging to him. Not even flushing him of cum had gotten rid of it. It was like Kinbote had seeped into him at the deepest level, like the alpha's name coursed through his blood and was written on his bones.</p><p><i>He does own me,</i> Nutmeg thought with a shudder. <i>I</i> am<i> his cum-ditch.</i></p><p>But he hadn't asked to be that. And once his mind settled on it, he felt a wave of such hopelessness he almost couldn't breathe. </p><p>When he fell into an exhausted sleep, it was with a new sort of misery in him, dragging him under into overwhelmed unconsciousness. As he slept, he saw a golden-eyed Little Glove prancing about the outside of his cage, in robes of sky-blue, with the sun, the Goddess' bauble, gleaming behind him and lighting up his shining hair.</p><p><i>To be claimed is a gift!</i> Little Glove said. <i>To be owned like this is a gift! Isn't it, Nutmeg?</i></p><p><i>Or are</i> you<i> the gift, little rabbit? You tell me!</i></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. The Will of Lupa</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>If Eknavys had been here, Kinbote would have set him to researching omega claiming once more. Probably with a few harsh words about how his omicron <i>could have mentioned the fucking mindreading.</i></p>
<p>As it was, Eknavys avoided that harsh fate. The omicron was back in Skoll City, in Kinbote's townhouse, along with the other half of Kinbote's staff. And Kinbote was not entirely comfortable approaching the keep omicrons with what had just happened to him. Omicrons were always in someone's employment. Always thinking, philosophizing, and researching <i>for</i> someone. As with the other castes, they existed to fulfill a very specific role for Lupa's chosen, and yet one could never be sure which of Lupa's chosen they were serving.</p>
<p>They might be reporting to some other alpha. Like Warekin. </p>
<p>After locking his brother in the garderobe and dealing with Wisp, Kinbote had rushed to hold the trial as quickly as possible, before Warekin could slink out of affronted outrage and realize what was happening. This was pure spite on Kinbote’s part. He could have decided just as he had even with Warekin present -- it was, after all, his right as the heir to do whatever he liked with most members of the Kin clan, subject as he was only to the word of his father -- but he was quite sure he would not have been able to stand looking at Warekin just then.</p>
<p>Bad enough to have to gaze on Larkin. Sunny, loyal, wonderful Larkin, who had fallen into habits just as bad as those of any Skoll City degenerate. Half-claiming an omega just to torture the creature. It <i>still</i> left a bad taste in Kinbote's mouth.</p>
<p>So he was circumspect when he reached the learning halls, even after he requested Larkin's omicron. Olakna, the small matron who had appeared at the trial. She had a cozy little room with a desk, shelves, and a roaring fire, and blinked with surprise as the alpha heir strode in.</p>
<p>"My lord! So soon after the trial! But I had thought you would be--"</p>
<p><i>Balls-deep, I bet. Me too,</i> Kinbote thought with a grimace, waving her silent. Then he cut short that line of thought. He could feel a sort of pulsing, determined misery in the back of his head. He knew it was not his. It was the omega. The little o-slut he'd knotted, living in his mind. Faint, now that Kinbote no longer shared a room with him. But still there.</p>
<p>It was alarming. It should not have happened. He would write Eknavys and have Eknavys look into why it had occurred -- easy enough to send a missive to Skoll City, since he was planning to send a very particular sort of package there anyway -- but in the meantime, he intended to stop this bizarre mind-sharing in its tracks.</p>
<p>"I have a question," he told Olakna abruptly. "And your great knowledge at the trial impressed me, so I had thought I would put it to you."</p>
<p>The small omicron preened, her mouth dimpling into a smile.</p>
<p>"An honor, my Prince! I have reached, naturally, top marks in all examinations, ever since I was a girl of three or four, when I took most naturally to the study of the history of the wolflands, particularly that history which revolves around the process of trials! Honor-trials, scandal-trials, trials of strength, trials of dedication, Lupa's own trials--"</p>
<p>It was clear she could go on for some time. Kinbote said, quite hastily, "It shows! It shows, good Olakna-kin-omicron. But I've come to you over something a bit different. I have a -- a query related to something I spied on the front lines."</p>
<p>This was a lie. But Kinbote had seen many strange and curious things on the front, from heinous machines operated by the snow leopards, to the odd diseases the vicious cats invented and snuck into innocent encampments. It was the leopards who had caused the dancing pox, after all; not to mention the leopards who'd determined how to first distill aavis fir and make a poison undetectable to all but the most gifted upsilons. But Kinbote knew that, bad as the reality of that warfare was, even worse were the exaggerated tales that reached the keeps and City. It would be easy to pin a horror on the snow leopards.</p>
<p>"This must be kept confidential," he said, pitching his voice low, and stooping so he was eye to eye with Olakna. When she nodded, eyes wide, he continued.</p>
<p>"The leopards have developed a strange...<i>gas</i>," he decided. "Strange and terrible. It opens up the mind. Suddenly, the affected soldier finds himself hearing his adversary in his thoughts. His adversary, likewise, hears his. It seems to establish a--"</p>
<p>Olakna's hands flew to her mouth.</p>
<p>"A mind link!" she cried, face going flushed with excitement. "A true bond! It cannot be! Such a thing-- no! Not a bond like Lupa was said to have formed with Arlorr-orr-alpha--"</p>
<p><i>What?</i> Kinbote thought wildly.</p>
<p>"--oh, but such a tale is apocryphal! And to think of those horrible cats having the power! Lord, it is too terrible to believe!"</p>
<p>Well, now Kinbote was suddenly wondering if he had made a mistake, in crafting such a lie. But it was too late to back out now.</p>
<p>"Pretend you do not know this," he ordered firmly. "For, as I said, it is so horribly confidential, Olakna-kin-omicron. You could compromise all our forces, and the war itself, were you to share it with anyone--"</p>
<p>Olakna nodded vigorously, her cap of white curls shaking with the movement.</p>
<p>"Good," Kinbote said, relieved. "Now. Tell me. This, er, apocryphal story. Of Lupa Herself possessing a link with Arlorr--"</p>
<p>The first alpha. The first human to Turn, to be gifted the powers of the wolf-goddess.</p>
<p>"--uh. Did such a power continue his entire life? Or? Or could he...could he turn it <i>off</i> somehow?"</p>
<p>When he heard the question leave his lips, he knew it must sound ridiculous. No one would turn off a chance to be close to the Goddess, to share Her wisdom and glory. No one who wasn't secretly a dumb bastard like Kinbote, anyway. So, clearly, that situation was <i>nothing</i> like his own.</p>
<p>But Olakna was scrunching up her nose and thinking. After a moment, she held up a finger and then scurried off to a far shelf, where she stood on tip-toes and took down a large book bound in snow-white vellum.</p>
<p>She set this on her desk with a clunk and flipped it open, turning pages madly, as if in search. When she found what she sought, her eyes lit up.</p>
<p>"Lupa has guided you to me so that I may guide you, in Her wisdom! Yes, Lord, it is plain as day! Lupa has the answer to all things!" she declared, fingers tracing the page as she read the lines she sought and summarized them for Kinbote. </p>
<p>"As the folktale goes, Arlorr underwent thirteen trials in order to win the thirteen tribes to Lupa's cause! But the cunning Romarr of the Bog, Romarr the first omicron, that is, was able to discern Arlorr's mind link to the Goddess. Romarr did not wish his people to be part of Lupa's order -- very profane of him! It has always made me ashamed to read this story, Lord, but naturally our ancestors cannot be expected to be so forward-thinking as we are -- and so Romarr wished to disrupt the bond. </p>
<p>"So he tricked Arlorr. Romarr invited the great alpha to his chief's hut for a feast and offered him drugged wine, and when Arlorr grew hazy and slipped off into slumber, Romarr affixed a collar of silver about his throat. Silver dipped in moonlight, Lord! The antithesis of the Goddess' golden sun-power! Such a thing was sufficient to disrupt the sacred bond between Arlorr and his Goddess for a time--"</p>
<p>Olakna broke off, looking disappointed.</p>
<p>"Oh, but there is nothing to say that it will do the same for the tricks of the snow-leopards!"</p>
<p>She gazed at Kinbote with real, serious despair. Now Kinbote felt a bit guilty.</p>
<p>"It is a start!" he assured her. "Something to take to, er, the college in Skoll City. Naturally I will tell them you did the initial research, so that it if it bears fruit and provides a real defense--"</p>
<p>Olakna clasped her hands and pressed them to her mouth, overcome again.</p>
<p>"My name shall be featured in a history! Perhaps one I can even write myself!"</p>
<p>"Er. Yes," Kinbote said. "But do not write this encounter, Olakna. Not yet. It is important to keep this all secret, as I have said. And one more question. Where -- where, precisely, does one find a collar made of silver dipped in moonlight?"</p>
<p>Now Olakna didn't even reach for a book. She simply blinked.</p>
<p>"Why, Lord, isn't that the sort of silly thing the zetas are always making all the time? I'm certain they can provide that."</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>He had few hopes that the collar would work. Zeta magic could be very unpredictable. Still, after sending off his missive to Skoll City in order to start Eknavys on his research, Kinbote went to the zeta tower and commissioned a collar anyway just in case. The zetas of the wolflands were generally pressed into recreating the weapons of the leopards: pistols, rifles, and the like. They were not inventive by nature -- simply Gifted, as all the thirteen castes were. In the zetas' case, Gifted at metal-crafting with a small side of magic. This meant that it was easy enough to describe what he needed, down to the rather odd requirement that the silver be dipped in moonlight somehow.</p>
<p>They promised him the collar in a few hours, as they could only begin work once night had fallen and the silver could be treated to his specifications. This was acceptable to him. He had already passed nearly a full day in the keep, and at midnight he would be feasted, a great bounteous feast to prepare all the keep nobility for the sacred fasting that would follow in the coming days. Then, tomorrow, he would have to be on hand for the devotions to Lupa.</p>
<p>Come those devotions, he didn't particularly want to sit starving in a pew with Larkin and his father, and hear the piteous little voice of the omega in his head.</p>
<p><i>I don't</i> want<i> to be made to be knotted, oh Lupa, oh Lupa, I want to be more, to be my own--</i></p>
<p>Insistent, impetuous, and sincere. And prideful, but the sort of meager gasp of pride that a creature had when pride was the <i>only</i> thing it had. Once the horror of hearing thoughts not his own had passed, there had come rage and affront -- for who was this little whore to reject <i>Kinbote</i>? -- but now even that had dulled in the face of a new realization.</p>
<p>Kinbote pitied the creature. Pitied it terribly. And reeled at the little omega, too, for his thoughts were so clear and frank and genuine. Nutmeg had wits, certainly, not just wild omega bitch-hunger; and he had a sad, profane, degenerate little dream, but at the very least the dream was his.</p>
<p>A dream of going beyond his caste. How cruel of Lupa to have granted thoughts like that to the skinny o-slut. Thoughts like that never led anywhere good. Omegas had a place in the hierarchy, or rather they had a place outside it, at the very bottom of it, and like all the other castes, it was right and just that they keep to their place. Only danger and madness could lie in seeking to subvert the godly order. </p>
<p>Everyone knew that. Kinbote better than most. </p>
<p>Kinbote had never seen inside Wisp's mind, but he knew Wisp knew this truth as well. Wisp knew what he was for: for the pleasure of the higher orders. Wisp had always understood that, even when a childish, stupid Kinbote had cried and begged and screamed for Raskin to permit more for Wisp. Wisp had never cried, screamed, or begged. </p>
<p>Wisp had known, even then, that he was one of Raskin's toys and no more.</p>
<p>This thought had a heavy, oily gloom to it. Kinbote didn't wish the omega to catch a glimpse of it. So, before he returned to his quarters, he Turned and ran five times around the keep, exhausting himself. Exhausting his mind. He needed it blank and clear, so the little bitch would have nothing to grab hold of.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>He should have gone to his bedchamber afterwards and stolen a few hours of sleep.</p>
<p>He did not do that. Nutmeg was in his bedchamber, and he had no desire to be swamped by the mind-link again. So instead he went to his adjoining bathing room and scrubbed himself vigorously, still doing his best to keep his thoughts blank. Then he called for Scawmin to trim his beard, and Zoree to lay out clothes for him, and Ingwret to bring a meal, and--</p>
<p>Ingwret did not come. </p>
<p>This wasn't entirely unexpected. Some alphas were imperious with their retinue. Kinbote had never been able to manage that. His staff had all seen when, at ten years old, the prince had been packed off to squire his brother Uskind. To say that Kinbote had not wanted to go would have been an understatement. Kinbote had been terrified, a pitiful sort of alpha, and so for the first few months of their service to him, Ingwret and the others had had to learn how to mop up tears and promote childish good cheer.</p>
<p>After that, it was difficult to be imperious with them. Instead of roaring for Ingwret, Kinbote followed his nose and was irritated when the warm-bread scent of his upsilon led him right to his own bedroom.</p>
<p>Ingwret had opened the door to the cage. Just the door, just enough so that Nutmeg could poke his head out. The boy was eating from a bowl on the floor like a dog, lapping up something vaguely pink and unappetizing.</p>
<p>His head snapped up when Kinbote entered the room. Nutmeg's formless terror swamped the alpha -- after all Kinbote's kindness, after Kinbote had released him from his half-claimed madness, the little bitch was actually <i>afraid</i> of him.</p>
<p>Kinbote stamped down his irritation.</p>
<p><i>At least fear is a proper emotion for an omega,</i> he thought, carefully, in Nutmeg's direction. <i>Unlike rebellion and arrogance.</i></p>
<p>Nutmeg flinched, clearly hearing the thought, and bent his head again. </p>
<p>"Lord!" Ingwret said cheerily, in the meanwhile.</p>
<p>Kinbote simply glowered at him.</p>
<p>His upsilon cook was a rangy, small man, with bright eyes and crooked teeth. He was forever cheerful, and Kinbote had long ago learned not to be bothered by this, but it was difficult to match Ingwret's cheer now.</p>
<p>"I said he was to be kept caged. You have let him out."</p>
<p>"Had to feed him somehow, my prince."</p>
<p>"You could have," Kinbote said icily, "put a spoon through the bars."</p>
<p>"Nah, couldn't have," Ingwret said, with a laugh. "Would have taken too long, Lord! Spoonfeeding him his beet mash! Imagine that!"</p>
<p>Kinbote wrinkled his nose, peering over at the pinkish slop in the bowl with renewed distaste.</p>
<p>"Is that what his kind eats? No wonder he's so skinny. Get up, omega. Let me look at you."</p>
<p>In the time he had been gone, no one had lit the lamps, so he moved to do so now. He was of a mind to examine his claimed properly, and for this he needed their golden glow. </p>
<p><i>Let's see if you have the promise I initially thought you might,</i> he thought carefully, aiming the thought once more at Nutmeg.</p>
<p>Interestingly, the only thoughts he received back were carefully blank twinges of pain, as the omega crawled fully out of the cage and rose on unsteady, aching legs. </p>
<p>Like Nutmeg was trying desperately to hold his own thoughts back. But could an omega do this? Could it have that degree of self-possession? Kinbote had known several that had seemed clever enough, once, but over time he'd convinced himself that they must be exceptions to the rule. Omegas were not supposed to have this sort of quiet dignity.</p>
<p><i>But Wisp has it, like his own foremothers did,</i> Kinbote thought, quite without meaning to.</p>
<p>This thought made the stubborn brown chin fly up. Nutmeg's lovely eyes flashed, and he said, "How do you know this thing's mam? And where is he? And the pup?"</p>
<p>And the emotions -- now they were an assault. Fear, anger, worry, despair and hope all knotted together, all these thoughts at once from the skinny brown whore before him, as if <i>Wisp</i> were the magic word that could shake Nutmeg from his calculated blankness. </p>
<p>On one level, this was a good thing. It meant Kinbote was too busy being flooded with the omega's headstrong flurry of thoughts to think on Wisp's babe. On another level, it was overwhelming, and unpleasant. </p>
<p>"Wisp is resting!" he found himself snapping, while he thought, <i>Calm yourself, for Lupa's sake!</i> </p>
<p>But then he added, very carelessly, four words that only served to make the defiant little slut worse.</p>
<p>"There is no pup."</p>
<p>These were the wrong words. They did nothing to calm Nutmeg. They charged him up instead, his brain screaming, <i>No, no-- mam can't lose him, Lupa, no, please, Lupa, please--</i> as his mouth gave a cry of formless grief. He crouched on the marble floor tiles, quite naked, and began to shake and sob. The sight was pitiful and animal, as if he had never been taught to control his emotions.</p>
<p>Except that he had. He had been doing it a moment ago.</p>
<p><i>But only for so long, clearly,</i> Kinbote decided, with impatience. <i>This is closer to the truth of you, omega. This is because you are an animal, as all the priests say you are. And there are some things animals cannot help but do</i>.</p>
<p>In response, another flinch wracked the skinny body.</p>
<p>He didn't feel pleased to see it. He felt, instead, horribly guilty, and that was not a pleasant feeling at all. It crawled along his gut, a miserable heaviness that was wholly his and not the omega's, that defied what the priests said about Nutmeg's caste. He pushed it back ruthlessly, striding forwards until he could drag the boy up and make him stand.</p>
<p>"I said I wanted to look at you!" Kinbote told him then, determining to take the creature in hand at once. "It will serve you well to do as I say, rather than falling into productions. Understand?"</p>
<p>Ingwret, now stooping and picking up the discarded bowl of mash, looked vaguely disapproving. But only vaguely.</p>
<p>"Not much to look at Lord," he said, after a few seconds. "Needs fattening up, he does."</p>
<p>Now Nutmeg's sniffles were subsiding. His mind was receding back into that hideous, dull, throbbing misery that characterized it, but he was still and stayed standing when Kinbote stepped back to examine him.</p>
<p>He desperately needed fattening. He was tall, for an omega, but so thin he seemed starved. His ribs were outlined plain in his flat chest. His wrist-bones and knobbly knees and ankles were no better. Kinbote traced his concave belly and found that the skin was soft, though, at least. And his hair was soft, a tangled fall of pale brown that nevertheless gleamed in the light. There was a little mole by Nutmeg's pouty mouth that was almost endearing, too. There was potential here. In his body, at least.</p>
<p>But that body was also marred by welts and bruises. In his haste to bed the omega, Kinbote had only briefly noted them. Now he could see them clearly, however, and there were places where new bruises appeared layered on old. As if Nutmeg had received no end of punishment.</p>
<p><i>Aye,</i> was all the boy thought, tiredly, not even trying to contradict this.</p>
<p>It was his rebellion. It had to be. Gervaise, that weak delta, likely had no other way of handling it <i>but</i> to punish Nutmeg. </p>
<p>"How," Kinbote asked, tracing one awful bruise on the boy's upper arm, "did you come to be painted so?"</p>
<p>"Just as you think, prince. This thing is a bad omega."</p>
<p>"Clearly," Kinbote grunted out. The reply had sounded toneless and tired, Nutmeg's eyes dim and blank. But the words themselves were an insouciant reference to the fact that Nutmeg could hear his thoughts, and a little thread in the boy's mind echoed his defiance over this fact.</p>
<p>"Any omega that does not know its place in the order of things, that is not cooperative with the higher castes, merits its punishment," Kinbote said by way of answering the defiance, more on instinct than anything else. This was a common refrain from the priests, after all -- the sort of thing Warekin was likely to say once a day. But this, rather than quelling Nutmeg's little thread of rebellion, only seemed to feed it further.</p>
<p><i>Aye, and whose order? Yours! Not mine! Not an order made by</i> my<i> caste, by such poor things as we are</i>---</p>
<p>Kinbote, whose hand had strayed to examining a lattice of bite marks on the boy's back, recoiled.</p>
<p>This carelessness regarding the order, this sheer willfulness -- it wasn't right for an omega. It was obstinate and loud and furious, near-blasphemous in what little regard it had for Lupa's laws--</p>
<p><i>As little regard as She has had for me!</i> cried out the dogged, profane little mind. <i>For if She cared, lord, She would not have made me and mine so low, and would not tell us we exist but -- but to have our holes filled</i>--</p>
<p>"If this is what you think with the mind She gave you, then little wonder that your sole value is in your holes!" Kinbote snapped, overcome. He found himself grabbing the boy by the shoulders and shaking him. Nutmeg bore this with perfect pliability, but now Kinbote thought he could see some black mutiny in the golden-brown eyes. </p>
<p>Kinbote's mind raced. This was bad. This was much, much worse than he had initially anticipated. He had believed Wisp's child would be, once the madness of being partially claimed wore off, very like Wisp. But this creature had too much mind, too much self--</p>
<p>Nutmeg gave a little sob.</p>
<p><i>Should I not have a self?</i> he cried out, and began to tremble beneath Kinbote's hands.</p>
<p>No. </p>
<p>Or. </p>
<p>Well.</p>
<p><i>Kinbote</i> didn't know. He only knew what was right, what his adoptive mother Kinshasha had taught. Which was that an alpha had a self. But for an omega? It hardly signified. An omega should be submissive, slow-witted, amenable, and humble. Omegas needed to be those things. <i>Kinbote</i> needed them to be those things. And yet Nutmeg was plainly none of those things. </p>
<p>Kinbote bit his lip, both pitying the creature and knowing, really knowing, that whatever Nutmeg was could not be borne. Could not be allowed to continue.</p>
<p>What would they say of Kinbote, if he let that continue? What would that say about him? He, who, more than anyone, was an alpha in all the ways that counted, and yet--</p>
<p>But no. No -- he could not think of that. He tightened his hold on the boy and took in a few deep, measuring breaths, counting them out, to keep from showing the omega things which Nutmeg had no right to know.</p>
<p>The skinny body beneath his hands took in a great shuddering breath of its own.</p>
<p>"I cannot help what I think," Nutmeg said, after a few moments, very low and mournful. "Lord. I cannot help it--"</p>
<p>"You cannot help anything," Kinbote snapped. "You're an omega."</p>
<p>And perhaps that was it. Perhaps that was the answer. No -- it was. No 'perhaps' about it. Kinbote was the alpha here. Kinbote was the one to take the matter in hand. Gervaise had badly mishandled this omega, somehow, treated him with the wrong punishments, punishments that Kinbote could feel prompted little but bored acceptance in Nutmeg, as if the boy had been miserable so long that the misery exhausted rather than corrected him.</p>
<p>That would have to change. He would need real training. Something to focus his mind on his holes, on his <i>place</i>. To make him understand and accept it.</p>
<p>"Lord?" Nutmeg said, gaze snapping up.</p>
<p>Now his eyes hid nothing. He could sense the trail of Kinbote's thoughts, and a very real fear crept up into his gaze and stiffened the slender body.</p>
<p>"Ingwret," Kinbote said steadily, to the rather confused upsilon who had been warily pretending not to watch this whole exchange. "I need you to run down to the kitchens. I've thought of something I need, to help my omega settle into his new role."</p>
<p>And when he thought it, Nutmeg thought it, and let out a whine of very real dread. </p>
<p>-</p>
<p>The midnight feast in Kinbote's honor was held in the Western hall, a great colonnaded expanse which had been used seldom since the time of Lady Kinshasha. </p>
<p>Kinbote stared at the over-elaborate floral arrangements, which somehow combined at least four varieties of rose with several sorts of fuzzy-headed flowers that made him sneeze. They were intended to do so. Kinshasha had often told him that it was a mark of pride to be affected by a bouquet like this. It was well-known that the most virile and strong alphas in the wolflands were too scent-sensitive to bear some varieties of plants and flowers. That was why the leopards' mass aavis fir poisoning, derived from the potent sap of fir needles, had cleaned out so many of them.</p>
<p>Including Kinshasha. </p>
<p>But tonight it was like someone had resurrected her in spirit, though Kinbote could spot no epsilon necromancers among the servants. Still, this feast would have made his adopted mother proud. She had been mostly a sensible woman, except that sensitivity of scent had been, to her mind, one of the great marks of true holy nobility, and every formal occasion had been a chance to show off that blueblooded volatility of the nose.</p>
<p>Kinbote had always had the most sensitive, alpha-blessed nose of any of them. He therefore spent most of his own welcome feast sneezing.</p>
<p>This proved, however, to be a strange blessing in disguise. If he was sneezing, after all, he did not have to answer the various heated accusations that began to flow about the alpha high table even before the first course was brought out.</p>
<p>"What do you mean," Warekin said icily, tapping one nail on his cutlery in a staccato of irritation, "Kinbote <i>claimed</i> the thing?"</p>
<p>Larkin's answer was mulish, and punctuated by him seizing a butter knife and using it to stab the air in the general direction of Kinbote.</p>
<p>"Ask him! I have been sending his staff missives all morning--"</p>
<p><i>I told them to ignore you,</i> Kinbote thought, between sneezes. <i>Serves you right for becoming a lech in my absence, little brother--</i></p>
<p>"Why would he claim it?" Raskin said now, blearily. The alpha lord was plainly nursing a hangover, and when an upsilon approached and made a production of taste-testing a fragrant dish of lamb, he made a groaning noise and waved the dish down the table to his sons. "You don't need t'bloody claim an omega t'fuck it--"</p>
<p>"Do you know what this makes us look like?" Warekin hissed. "Do you know what this does to our clan name? It is bad enough that Erskine is so strange--"</p>
<p>"How is Uncle strange?" Larkin asked, curly head whipping about to look at Warekin, though the butter knife remained pointed at Kinbote. "And--"</p>
<p>Warekin ignored him.</p>
<p>"<i>We shall be the laughingstock of Skoll City!</i>" he hissed. </p>
<p>"--where is my pet now?"</p>
<p>Kinbote sneezed.</p>
<p>"In my bedchamber, Larkin," he managed to say. "Where else--"</p>
<p>"The thing should have been put to death!" Warekin was saying in the meantime, his red-gold braid flying as he became very animated. "That was the simplest resolution! A show of strength from the caste! Proof our vaunted <i>heir</i> does not possess a weakness for whores and rulebreakers--"</p>
<p>"Kinbote is the heir and so Kinbote can do what he likes with the bitch," Raskin put in now, surprising that heir. Kinbote stared at his father (between sneezes). Sobered up, Raskin looked old, but he seemed somehow more present. Almost like the father of Kinbote's youth.</p>
<p>"Well, what he should like is to do as <i>fully three quarters of the clans have done</i>, and put down the omegas, the very thing you have ever been too soft and degenerate to do!" Warekin snapped.</p>
<p>"Put them down?" Larkin cried. "What? Father, the poor little things, you cannot listen to him--"</p>
<p>"They aren't pack, Larkin," Warekin said cruelly, "and you must learn to put pack first--"</p>
<p>"Who?" Larkin demanded. "You? My pack is the three of you, and right now I scarcely even like any of you!"</p>
<p>"You're trying yourself, Larkin," Raskin grunted, between spoonfuls of a soft, delicately-scented custard. "And put down m'Bonbon? I wouldn't. Got a nice squeezing cunt. No, there's a place for the creatures, I've always said."</p>
<p>He had always said that. He had made Kinbote believe it. Kinbote <i>did</i> believe it. And right now, the belief was stabilizing. For if he believed it, and taught it to his new little bitch, then all would be well. He could keep his vow to Wisp -- to see Nutmeg cared for -- and fix the boy's blasphemous leanings, and put him in his place, where he belonged. And no one who observed the omega after that would ever doubt that Kinbote was anything but the most proper of alphas. </p>
<p>But now Larkin's voice was rising, hot with anger. "Father gets to have a pet! And Warekin claims you, Kinbote, already have Wisp's affection! But when I want my own pet--"</p>
<p>"I don't--" Kinbote said, holding off a sneeze by the absolute exercise of sheer will, "--have Wisp's affection like <i>that</i>--"</p>
<p>"Who cares for fucking omega affection?" Warekin shrieked, banging the table.</p>
<p>It was at this point, thank fucking Lupa, that a brave zeta approached the table. In his hands was a plain wooden box. When Kinbote, eager to escape the tide of raised voices, turned and grabbed it, he popped open the top and there it was.</p>
<p>A silver collar. There was no guarantee it would work. But he hoped it might. </p>
<p>Lupa's magic worked in strange ways. He knew that better than anyone. And -- and nearly every time he had put his faith in Her, she had delivered what he needed. Nearly every time, save one, and he had not deserved Her care that time. </p>
<p>He had blasphemed.</p>
<p>But now he was calling on Her to help him to do the opposite. To help him enforce the order. Gazing at the shining collar, he wondered if -- if perhaps this was arranged by Her.</p>
<p>Perhaps this was a test. To show that he was no longer the foolish, stupid child he'd been, the child that had clung to Wisp and demanded that things be different.</p>
<p>That child was, in its foolishness, not so different from the little omega that invaded his thoughts. </p>
<p>Even now he could feel the faint, pulsing anguish that characterized Nutmeg's thinking at the moment. The burning inside the boy, the wracking sobs he couldn't keep down as the knob of ginger Kinbote had forced inside him seared his arsehole. </p>
<p>For the barest second, guilt took hold of Kinbote.</p>
<p>But then he sneezed, and it seemed to reset his thoughts. He grimaced down at the collar. He perceived Nutmeg's torment as mostly intellectual from this distance, but even so. He needed to do away with this mind link. He wouldn't be able to train Nutmeg to be a proper omega if, every time he punished his new bitch, he ended up punishing himself with guilt, too.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Me @ everyone who has been theorizing about Kinbote’s origins: 🙃🙃🙃🙃</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Modifications</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Nutmeg's arse was on fire.</p><p>It hadn't started as a burn. His lordship had forced Nutmeg to bend over, and then traced the rim of Nutmeg's arsehole with a knobby bit of root. <i>Ginger</i>, his lordship's mind had called it.</p><p>But it had only tingled. Nutmeg had anticipated it would be worse than that eventually. Lord Kinbote's thoughts as good as promised it would be. But when the knob -- rather small, nothing so large as a cock -- was pushed into him, it was almost pleasant. There wasn't even any stretch, for Nutmeg had a pretty loose arsehole, all things considered.</p><p>Then he'd been prodded into his cage. Prodded. Not kicked or dragged. Lord Kinbote cut a fierce figure, and his mind was twisting and rage-filled and fearsome. But he didn't act the way he thought. When he needed to gentle Nutmeg he just touched his sensitive spot to get him pliable, then used his greater strength to put Nutmeg where he wanted him to be. </p><p>So for one small instance, once he was left alone in the cage, Nutmeg had dared to underestimate his Lordship.</p><p>And then the ginger had begun to burn. A little bit, at first. Enough to make his breath catch. In the tight space of the cage, he'd tried to wriggle, but that was no use. That just let it burrow in deeper, made his body tense up and his back passage really feel it. A heat that built and built and built, maddeningly slow, never cresting, until it seared him.</p><p>It hurt. It hurt in a new way, a way he'd never felt. Not the straightforward pain of being hit or fucked open, or the dull awful ache of humiliation. This was all of that and more, a throbbing hotness, a sting that never stopped.</p><p>He began to make distant, inhuman noises, sobbing at it. His cunt, bizarrely, was wet by the pain, by the <i>thrill</i> of it. He couldn't understand it. The ginger felt so horrible, and yet clearly it wasn't nearly horrible enough. Clearly, he was reacting to it with a sort of fascinated greed, like his holes were opened up to new possibilities, new sensations.</p><p>He was still sobbing quietly and still burning when, after a long, long time, Prince Kinbote returned.</p><p>He'd wanted Nutmeg to focus on his holes, the only things of value for an omega. Now he got that, and Nutmeg perceived his Lordship's brief satisfaction.</p><p>Then Kinbote sneezed, and cursed.</p><p>The lamps had burned low by now. When he opened the cage and reached in, pulling out the sweating, crying omega, Kinbote was just a very large shadow, dulled by Nutmeg's stupid tears. He patted Nutmeg's flank almost awkwardly, then reached around and twisted out the ginger knob.</p><p>It burned going out, the tingling scorch against his rim making Nutmeg gasp. When it was out his arse hurt no less, but now it felt horribly empty as well.</p><p>Kinbote chuckled.</p><p>"I think we've found our first training technique, omega. I'll think up more when I'm not so exhausted."</p><p>Then he lifted Nutmeg up like Nutmeg weighed nothing and brought him again to the huge sleigh bed in the center of the room. He dropped Nutmeg almost carelessly, but the sheets were too soft and the mattress too feather-stuffed for this to do any harm. Nutmeg gathered himself up on hands and knees while his Lordship disrobed. He felt wary and very tired, and yet he couldn't help but to rub his skinny thighs together, tacky as they were with the slick from his cunt. He felt -- he <i>needed</i>...</p><p>Kinbote laughed softly again.</p><p>"Me," said the huge alpha, as he came to join Nutmeg in the bed.</p><p>It was true. It was true like the need for Brindle had been, only this was rather more true. That had been a persistent shrieking desperation in his whole body. This was, rather, an acute emptiness that yawned to be filled by the man in front of him. He whined, disoriented by it.</p><p>Kinbote stretched out his massive form, ignoring the new need animating his omega. He patted the space on the bed beside him.</p><p><i>Do you know your role?</i> came his deep, firm voice, just as if he'd spoken.</p><p>Nutmeg stilled.</p><p>Then, head bowed, he crawled to the spot the alpha had directed him to.</p><p>He knew his role, yes. He didn't like it. But he knew it. </p><p>Kinbote's answering smile was something he felt rather than saw.</p><p>"That's a start, little slut. Now you can rest. Tomorrow, you'll be given a few adjustments to make you more pleasing to me."</p><p>Then the alpha was reaching over and fondling Nutmeg's sensitive neck again, his huge hands precise, and Nutmeg's body dropped into a limp, accepting looseness. </p><p>Kinbote could have fucked him right then. But he didn't. Instead, he let the omega fall into a restless but necessary sleep.</p><p>-</p><p>He woke overpowered by alpha.</p><p>Kinbote's huge form blanketed him, the muscular arms holding him close, the heavy weight pressing on his back. His Lordship's enormous cock, thick and long enough to look fearsome by morning's light, had come to be tucked between Nutmeg's skinny thighs, snug against his cunt. It had become somehow very hard to pick out Kinbote's scent as distinct from his own-- it was like Kinbote's was braided with his -- but still the ripe, potent smell of alpha was everywhere. </p><p>And Nutmeg was still very wet. His sore cunt was drooling all over the big prick. His heart beat very fast, a strange shame coming over him. </p><p>Lord Kinbote had somehow managed to see into his mind. Hear Nutmeg's deepest, most rebellious thoughts. But those thoughts were now betrayed by Nutmeg's own body, which <i>loved</i> the feel of the huge prick between his legs.</p><p>The only thing for it was to try to struggle away before his Lordship should wake. But Kinbote was too large, and their bodies too entangled. All Nutmeg could manage was to squirm pathetically beneath him, a squirming that made the soft prick start to harden up.</p><p>With a squeak, Nutmeg promptly stopped squirming.</p><p>He didn't want to be fucked. Of course not. He had never actually <i>wanted</i> a fucking, not until Lord Brindle, not until the claiming. But as an omega, wanting not to be fucked was like wanting the day not to follow the night. Fucking was just a part of life, and would happen even despite Nutmeg's supreme apathy towards actually being a fucktoy.</p><p>That apathy was not totally gone. But it was eroded. His hips moved ever-so-slightly, giving into the promise of release, like they often did when his body inevitably accepted what he was. Only -- only now what he was seemed somehow less strange, seemed more correct.</p><p>He let a hand flutter down to his belly. There. When Lord Kinbote had been in him to the hilt, the head of this huge cock fucking open Nutmeg's womb, that, right <i>there</i>, was the spot it had reached.</p><p><i>And I liked it, just as I like everything eventually,</i> Nutmeg thought shakily. </p><p>He hated the thought. He did. He swore he did. But his cunt and his mind rarely agreed on things. Because the memory of being fucked by Lord Kinbote had him rocking on the big prick, enjoying the warm velvet-firm flesh. </p><p>Kinbote's arms tightened around him, so tight he had no choice but to still.</p><p>"Morning, omega," the alpha lord said. "How nice not to hear you. I see the collar works."</p><p>Nutmeg blinked, not understanding. Until he should feel along his own collarbone, where a heavy silver weight rested. In the night, Lord Kinbote had clasped a dense circlet of silver around Nutmeg's neck, collaring him like a pet dog. It was not just thick and heavy, but it felt like lead, oppressive and bulky. For a minute or two, Nutmeg struggled to breathe, to understand just why the collar seemed so <i>wrong</i>.</p><p>Partly, because now he was alone with his own thoughts again. After the terror and thrill of being joined to the alpha lord, seeing and hearing things even Lupa's chosen warrior didn't want him to, this was a dense crash back to reality. The silver collar appeared to shatter whatever had bonded him so absolutely to Lord Kinbote, protecting Nutmeg’s own thoughts, while simultaneously robbing him of an odd, intrusive little advantage Nutmeg hadn't even realized he'd had.</p><p>Lord Kinbote traced his trembling back distractedly.</p><p>"I will look into why the collar works," he murmured, seemingly more to himself than to Nutmeg. "But by Lupa's grace, it does work, and for now that is enough. I've certainly seen enough of your mind to have your measure, in any case--"</p><p>And now his Lordship's big hand traced down, down and over Nutmeg's skinny hip. His fingers found Nutmeg's cock and briefly fondled it, before dipping down and rubbing the omega's stiff little clit.</p><p>It felt good. Bruising, a bit too rough, but that was nothing compared to most of the touches Nutmeg had experienced. Kinbote rubbed and rolled the little bead of flesh, sending sparks to Nutmeg's brain. He made a guttural sound and fucked into the touch, and his Lordship laughed.</p><p>"This is your measure," Kinbote whispered in his ear, the coarse black beard tickling the skin there. "You were made for this. This is the highest point your kind can reach: being owned by an alpha. But somewhere along the way, little whore, you lost sight of that. You forgot what your purpose was. I am going to help you fix that, and when I do--"</p><p>His thick fingers dipped down, and then curved. Slid right in to the wet, messy pool of Nutmeg's cunt, past his outer lips, to roughly finger-fuck his channel. They pressed into a hole so sensitive that Nutmeg's breath stuttered and his mind lit up, the thick pads reminding him how good it was to be opened up like a slut should be. Nutmeg gave a cry and came, spasming, overwhelmed.</p><p>"--you will thank Lupa," Kinbote finished, over Nutmeg's cries. "Thank Her for every dirty thing I make you do, thank Her for making you an omega."</p><p>-</p><p>After Larkin's appetite, Kinbote's should not have been a surprise.</p><p>But even Larkin hadn't fucked like this.</p><p>Kinbote fucked him in the bath and at breakfast, just as his brother had, but the fucking this time was worse, because it was <i>so</i> much better. His Lordship Kinbote didn't care for Nutmeg's arse, at least not today. His Lordship Kinbote was a cunt man. His enormous prick penetrated Nutmeg so deep the little o-slut gurgled on his cock, body spasming, fingers scrabbling against the golden bath fixtures, then the carved wood breakfast table. </p><p>He'd never felt so <i>spread</i>. The big length plunged into his wet heat over and over and over, leaving him breathless every time. His brain and body stuttered with every thrust, reduced to nothing but craving. His hole was driven open, forced open, made to take the biggest cock he'd ever had before. It reached in so deep that it prodded his cervix open more than once, and Nutmeg's whole self became balanced on those hot violations, his body spasming, his mouth slack and drooling as his brain blanked out. Slick dripped from his cunt, and whenever Kinbote brushed the soft little button above his folds he would hear indecent sounds fly from his own lips. After the first fucking, he was dazed and hiccuping, mind reeling from pleasure, and then moments later his Lordship decided they would have a second round.</p><p>"You react like a good whore, at least," Kinbote said, after forcing Nutmeg to bend over the breakfast table and reach back, spread his own cunt lips. "Your body knows what it's for."</p><p>Then he thrust in again, the angle letting him go deeper than before, and Nutmeg was shrieking with pleasure again.</p><p>Kinbote fed him distractedly during the second fuck, just like he'd bathed him a bit, but seemed ill-suited to this caretaking both times. He gave up each time and settled for the fucking, the <i>taking</i>. By the time breakfast was done, he had reduced Nutmeg to a shaking, whimpering mass, a little bitch whose satisfied, gaping hole gushed a mix of cum and slick onto his Lordship's fine carpet.</p><p>"Zoree!" Kinbote called then. "Flush him out, will you?"</p><p>Nutmeg barely reacted this time to the ministrations of the plump tau, the syringe spearing deep in him to flush out his womb. His body was too relaxed to cramp as it usually did, and his mind was very still, tired, and satisfied. The aftershocks of pleasure still curled his toes. He had orgasmed some five or six times, but Lord Kinbote didn't seem to have minded for some reason. As his Lordship polished off some warm-smelling sweetcakes brought to him by his poison-taster, Ingwret the upsilon, Kinbote's big hand kneaded Nutmeg's skinny, cum-stained thigh.</p><p>"You'll cradle my cock between your thighs while I piss," he decided. "And warm it whenever I bathe. For I saw inside your mind, my little bitch. I saw that you are at your best, your humblest and most reduced, when made to think of cock."</p><p>Nutmeg processed the words slowly. They still left a part of him cringing, but his mind was so clear and far away that it was difficult to cringe very much. When Zoree had cleaned him out and stepped away, he could vaguely sense Kinbote reaching for something, some bowl set further away on the table.</p><p>With his other hand, his Lordship traced the twitching, dripping cunt. The pads of his fingers were deliciously rough on Nutmeg's sensitive skin. Nutmeg whined, his walls fluttering and empty.</p><p>The cock. That cock had made him feel so complete.</p><p>"Now," Kinbote said, with a strange hitch in his tone. "Are you ready for your ginger again?"</p><p>Nutmeg snapped back to reality. He gave a wild cry and tried to curl in on himself, fearing the renewed burn, the awful sting, but Kinbote forced his hips down with a hand and made him still. Then he brought a new tingling little knob to Nutmeg's arsehole, twisting it in with one decisive motion.</p><p>The horrible scratch felt more pronounced this time, right at the beginning. Nutmeg covered his eyes and sobbed, not understanding.</p><p>"Do you know why I'm punishing you with a routine figging?" Kinbote asked softly.</p><p>Nutmeg shook his head beneath his hands. His arse was starting to heat up, and it would be on fire soon. It would be excruciating and painful, and he would hate it and love it all at once. He cried desperately, for the second figging was made worse by understanding and anticipation.</p><p>"It is because," Kinbote said, ignoring his cries, "I <i>know</i> you cannot have gotten over your mad need to go beyond your place. Not so quickly. Not so soon. So I will give you a month, omega. A month of punishment, of forcing your mind to attend to my cock, and to the need in your holes. In a month, little whore, I will remove your collar and see if you have learned your place. If you have improved in that time, the daily punishments for your initial insubordination will cease. But until then, get used to being shown the reality of what you are."</p><p>His big, warm hand massaged one of Nutmeg's arsecheeks almost gently, even as the ginger began to really sear and Nutmeg began to wail.</p><p>-</p><p>He held the ginger inside him for what must have been an hour, while His Lordship retreated to a big carved stone desk to write and review sheaths of paper. In that time, Nutmeg, who'd had a silver chain attached to his collar, was tied to the cage and left to writhe on the floor, tears in his eyes, as he burned up horribly.</p><p>This time, when Lord Kinbote removed it, he insisted Nutmeg thank him for the kindness. Nutmeg wanted to curse him instead -- it was Kinbote's decision, Kinbote's alpha prerogative, that he suffer so. He should not have to thank Kinbote, who had <i>made</i> him suffer.</p><p>But he did. He was afraid that, if he didn't obey, the ginger would be kept in him longer. And afraid, too, that perhaps he might not be fucked again. That was a more shameful fear, but it was a very present one. The ginger burning up his arse had once again made his cunt needy and slick.</p><p>"Thank you," he said softly, feeling once more his emptiness and longing.</p><p>Kinbote stared down at him with calm, fathomless black eyes.</p><p>"Good," he said. "You will thank me for your punishments, and for being fucked. You will learn to thank me from the bottom of your heart for everything I do for you, omega. And you will address me as <i>alpha</i>, for I am now the one alpha for you. Understand?"</p><p>"Thank you, alpha," Nutmeg forced out, for he wasn't stupid, and he did understand.</p><p>This time, Kinbote cracked that brief, flashing smile that was gone in an instant. Nutmeg didn't know what to make of it. He gathered himself up until he was seated with his bottom on the marble floor, hugging his knees to his chest. But Kinbote shook his head slightly at this.</p><p>"No," he said. "You will get on your hands and knees. I'm taking you to Ataleia."</p><p>Nutmeg blinked up at him.</p><p>"Is this thing to crawl, lord?"</p><p>Kinbote's boot found his bruised shin and lightly toed  him. It <i>was</i> light, not at all a rough kick like Gervaise's, and so Nutmeg could only blink some more, wondering if that was supposed to be some sort of correction.</p><p>"<i>Alpha</i>," Kinbote bit out, after a few moments. "As I <i>just</i> instructed you."</p><p>"Oh!" Now Nutmeg actually did feel stupid. Blushing, swallowing hard, he moved to correct his error, but Kinbote cut him off before he could speak.</p><p>"My father is softhearted and lets his omegas walk, I believe. But you are my toy now. You will be coming with me when I depart for Skoll City at the end of the week, and in Skoll claimed omegas are rare, but their conduct is strictly policed. They are expected to crawl like real pets, to show their gratitude and humility to the alphas kind enough to honor them with a claiming. It will be best for you to become accustomed to this now."</p><p>And now his boot was prodding Nutmeg forward, onto his hands and knees again. Nutmeg obeyed this, but his mind was awhirl with dread.</p><p>Skoll City? He was to leave for Skoll City? But -- but what about his mam? And the children, and Twig, and the others--</p><p>"Come," said Kinbote, and tugged on his chain, which he had unlooped from the cage and now held in one firm hand. "I want to see you settled with my theta before I go to my devotions."</p><p>At this, Nutmeg's dread only deepened.</p><p>Thetas were physicians. Thetas worked with the body, healing the higher castes, attending to the diseased. Delivering babes when those babes were not omega babes, and were actually wanted. </p><p>And gelding. Nutmeg remembered his gelding vividly, the awful weekly visits from a stout, bad-tempered theta man who had forced a little wire-tube into his piss-slit. The stretch had been awful, but even worse had been the sting and smarting of the substance forced through the wire, poison to deaden the nerves and destroy his cocklet's workings. After twelve weeks, Nutmeg had been left with shriveled little omega balls and a useless member. Unable to come but for from his cunt. </p><p>Now, as he crawled after Kinbote, hands and knees passing over the smooth marble floors of the heir prince's quarters, he could scarcely contain his fright.</p><p>Why was he being taken to a theta? He was already gelded. Would they -- would they find some way to geld him anew? To cleave off the little button above his cunt, or deaden the sensitive slicked flesh of his hole? Was this his real punishment, for upsetting Lord Kinbote with his rebellion not once, but many times in the past few days?</p><p>By the time they reached a well-lit room with a large metal table in the center, there was a hollow pit of miserable expectation in Nutmeg's stomach. He was shaking when Kinbote picked him up and set him on the table, beneath the watchful eye of a tall, broad-shouldered woman with a bob of dark hair.</p><p>Kinbote frowned at him.</p><p>"Lie down," he commanded. "I promised you you would be adjusted to meet my expectations. I warned you <i>yesterday</i>. It cannot seriously surprise you that I want you fixed up a bit."</p><p>It did. It did because Nutmeg had been stupidly thinking, in his little cage yesterday, that Lord Kinbote must have been kind to Wisp. And this morning thinking that Lord Kinbote did not kick him so hard. Even with the horrible figging, Lord Kinbote had seemed less cruel than Master Gervaise, less whimsically horrible. </p><p>Nutmeg was so stupid. </p><p>His face was wet when he spread out on his back. The theta woman came forward and belted several tight straps over him -- over his neck, his belly, and his thighs -- to lock him in place.</p><p>"You have him crying already, lordship?" she said, with a grin at her alpha lord.</p><p>Kinbote looked impossibly irritated.</p><p>"All he does is cry! He's a miserable, twisted little thing. I'm going to have to rely on Tellusin for the best way to train him. Or maybe Erskine. Erskine is kind to omegas, you know, but he has his toy well-trained--"</p><p>The theta physician laughed, as if she had no fear of cutting off an alpha. Nutmeg's dread bloomed deeper still, for Kinbote allowed the transgression, seeming not-at-all-bothered, so what more would he allow from her?</p><p>"Erskine's little Slit is the one I practiced this on," she murmured now, grinning openly at Nutmeg's naked body. "The only other omega I've ever worked on. Lucky for this one. There's plenty who never have experience fixing them up at all, and the results are...well. You've seen Slit <i>before</i> I fixed him."</p><p>Kinbote only grunted.</p><p>"You did a fine job with the wreck Erskine presented you with, Ataleia. I leave this one in your hands."</p><p>Then he turned and left, his thundering steps on the marble fading out once the door to the theta's chamber closed behind him.</p><p>The theta let her cold, methodical fingers traced one of Nutmeg's nipples. Nutmeg bit his lip, disliking the impersonal touch very much.</p><p>"Name?" said the theta.</p><p>The question was so surprising that for several long moments, Nutmeg's mind didn't even believe she was addressing him. There was no one else in the room now, but even so. No one really wanted to know an omega's name, no higher caste. Larkin hadn't even asked it. Nor had Kinbote. So the theta was pressing and prodding along his chest gingerly for several moments before she asked again.</p><p>This time she tweaked his nipple, as if to chastise him.</p><p>"Your <i>name</i>, omega."</p><p>"N-nutmeg," Nutmeg said. The brief pain on his nipple was nothing, but now Ataleia was pressing the soft flesh of his chest this way and that, squinting down like she could see into his core.</p><p>Well. She could. That was her Gift. All thetas had it, the ability to see not just the outer form but deep down into the inner, to the blood-coursed veins and straining muscles, the blobs of organs. That was what made them such fine physicians. They could see clear through skin. </p><p>Ataleia pressed lightly in a line down to his belly. When she hit a spot above his hips, she chuckled.</p><p>"Poor bruised little wombhead," she said. "But it's not as bad as I've seen it. Slit's was hanging halfway out of his body when Erskine brought him to me. It will keep, and for the outer bruises and welts I've a salve for you."</p><p>Then her hands danced down, lower. When they brushed his cocklet he flinched with instinctive terror, but Ataleia only laughed again. She lifted it and inspected the tiny marbles behind, long-drained and useless. Then she rubbed the little clit-bead and Nutmeg's keen made her shake her head a bit.</p><p>"Just like Slit! How emotional you little bitches are. I expect that's what the alphas like, isn't it? You can't help but react. But here -- here's your most important part."</p><p>And she rubbed deftly along his cunt, her coarse fingers gathering up the wet and dipping it back in, testing the way he wriggled at each touch to his folds.</p><p>"Ah, very good. Nice and sensitive, even with the bruising. But I expect I'll need to propose tightening you up a bit. You're loose as a brothel bitch after a horse-show! As befits his Lordship's size, I suppose, but if you're to be useful to him you must clench -- clench on my fingers, now! There's a lovely little slut--"</p><p>Nutmeg clenched on instinct, simply because he was used to obeying that particular command, and was surprised to receive a near-kindly pat to his flank in exchange. The theta continued her bright, laughing dialogue as she examined him, crooking her fingers in him and making him whine.</p><p>"Oh, we like that! How nice and sluttish. You've not had the sensations tortured out of you. How good for Kinbote. He'll get a lovely fuck out of you. Probably has already, of course. Now let's test your back hole. Can you lift up your hips for me? Very good, my sweet, like that--"</p><p>Like all the Gifted castes, she seemed to regard Nutmeg as more animal than person. But she wasn't being cruel. Nutmeg was torn between gratitude for her deft, pleasant chatter and humiliation at how she apparently found his mute obedience funny, like he was a dog performing a trick.</p><p>"Oooh, we are very red back here! And the flesh is so hot! But you're nice and tight despite the bruising inside. His Lordship must have been liberal with ginger, eh? That will do it. It won't harm you permanently, and it will tense you up beautifully. I can see you're cleaned less often back here, though. Daily enemas, that's what I'll recommend. They can flush your back while they do your front. Clench again, there you go. Now open up your mouth--"</p><p>She brought her dirty fingers to his tongue. It made him cringe again to suck them, but Ataleia only chortled again at this.</p><p>"Why, are we ashamed? Little slut! What a good deep brown color you get -- you're healthy enough for being so thin, you know! Nice strong reactions, and no issues at all with your insides, from what I can see, other than needing a bit of fattening up. Lord Kinbote's picked a good one for himself, and that's a fact. Now, you've been <i>so</i> excellent I have a treat for you--"</p><p>And now her fingers dipped down. Nutmeg had had his eyes crunched closed with dread, but by now he had opened them, lulled by her lack of real cruelty. He blinked, surprised, when she began to softly stroke the gland on his neck, while rubbing a spot just below his shoulder gently with another hand. It was like -- like she was finding spots on him that were especially good at relaxing him with.</p><p>"The lupine chakras," Ataleia confided, with a twinkle in his eye. "The map every theta uses to settle a patient! Feels nice, doesn't it, little bitch?"</p><p>It did. It was so soothing. Not sexual in the least, not likely to make him wet. Just rhythmic and hypnotic, making his breath come in-out very even. His chest rose and fell in the rhythm she directed it to, lulled by her. He felt his eyes grow heavy, and then they were drooping closed again.</p><p>Sleep was usually a restless affair for Nutmeg. If he wasn't cunt-needy, he was hungry and cold, or he was bruised and aching, or else he was all of the above. Normally only being piled together with his mother and the other omegas made being in his body bearable enough to have a truly restful sleep.</p><p>Now he dropped like a stone. He drifted, soothed beyond measure. His mind settled itself for once in a place that was past anxiety, past misery. He was so tranquil and subdued that the distant feel of fingers on his chest hardly signified.</p><p>His body knew, however. His body reacted. He hiccuped, still in that calm place, and felt something in him <i>unfurl</i>. It was a blossoming, near-painful growth, stretching out parts of him he wasn't used to feeling. He whimpered, and a spike of pleasure in his core made him drip onto the table. The placid calm that had entered him didn't abate, but now a throbbing, thrumming ache had settled in his chest, which felt on fire and full and odd and <i>intense</i>, and in his induced sleep he managed to come from it, body spasming and twitching on the table.</p><p>He was in such a deep sleep he didn't register Ataleia's peals of laughter, how funny she found this. He was in such a deep sleep that he had no idea, until he woke much later, how very much she had altered him to make him the bitch Lord Kinbote wanted. In his sleep he only saw Little Glove, giggling above him, poking at his chest. Little Glove wore a fine silver belt with a wolf on it, and said, <i>ooooh, you'll make such pretty quarry, Nutmeg. Remember that, aye?</i></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>These updates are coming fast because I’m editing fast! Even I would like to get to the part of the story where Kinbote shapes up a bit!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Certain Devotions</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Larkin," Kinbote said, when the upper castes were all gathered in the keep church at midday and a massive heap of dead bears was piled before the altar. "What. The fuck."</p>
<p>Someone had mentioned that Larkin planned to burn twenty-eight bear corpses in his honor. Possibly Olakna, at the trial. But at the trial Kinbote had been scent-addled, wrapped up in the smell of his pretty slut's hunger for a knot. </p>
<p>So it took the morning of the devotions to really hammer home <i>just</i> what a magnificent ceremony to Lupa Larkin had prepared.</p>
<p>"You don't deserve it," Larkin himself bit out now.</p>
<p>"I should think not!" Kinbote said.</p>
<p>"You are a cheat, not the brother I thought you were! Stealing my pet, and turning upon me for Warekin's actions--"</p>
<p>"And this is how you punish me?" Kinbote hissed. "We are going to be fasting for like <i>four fucking days</i>, Larkin."</p>
<p>Larkin's pale face was so drawn with hurt that he seemed not to hear.</p>
<p>"I wish I hadn’t even given you the soul of a meager squirrel to tide you over in the sacred hunt--"</p>
<p>"I wish the same!" said Kinbote.</p>
<p>He said it with such vehemence that their father, Raskin, stirred from his place in the alpha pew between them. Raskin had seated his heavy bulk and dozed off as Warekin's delta acolytes dragged the bear carcasses in, but now he roused himself and rose ponderously, squinting at the furry, blood-drained cadavers.</p>
<p>"Larkin," he said, after a moment. "What the <i>fuck</i>?"</p>
<p>"He doesn't deserve it!" Larkin declared again. "And to think I wanted to catch him a wildcat!"</p>
<p>Kinbote had to force down a dark retort about Larkin being the reason he was saddled with a rebellious little wildcat of an omega. Then he was glad he'd forced it down because, upon an instant's reflection, he had to concede that Nutmeg was not actually a wildcat. He'd been mostly obedient in his conduct, barring the first night, when he'd dared to slap his alpha-to-be. And the realization of this left Kinbote blinking, confused for a moment.</p>
<p>He had seen inside the omega's mind. He'd heard Nutmeg profane Lupa. <i>Surely</i> the boy was a rather bad omega on that basis alone, without even getting into how he privately disdained and rejected Kinbote's own kindnesses to him. </p>
<p>Only -- only in fact, based solely upon his behavior, Nutmeg was probably rather <i>well</i>-trained.</p>
<p>This bothered Kinbote. If the boy was actually rather good, what did it matter if, in the privacy of his thoughts, Nutmeg had foolish ideas about being more than what he was? Who was it harming? Wasn't it Kinbote, then, who was harming the boy by punishing him for mad impulses he clearly could not help? </p>
<p>But no. No. It wasn't really punishment. It was correction. It was correction for Nutmeg's own benefit. Surely the omega would be happier, better suited to his role, once Kinbote had fixed him of the defiant streak he so secretly cherished.</p>
<p>Now, as Larkin sniped and Raskin muttered about his parade of lovers ("What a waste of m'time! I could be fucking m'Bonbon! Good cunt he has, as I expected he would"), Kinbote stared out at the great lupine form above the altar. The cathedral in Skoll City had a statue of Lupa in Her wolf form and and a statue of Her in Her human form, such a strangely lovely figure with yellow almond-shaped eyes. Here She was only depicted as a wolf, but a wolf inlaid in fine woods and gilt, with red jewels for Her bloodied claws. By now Warekin, who had been chanting the devotion-chant, came forward, flanked by delta attendants bearing the heavy golden baskets of sacred spotted mushroom which would burn with the bear-devotions.</p>
<p>Kinbote swallowed hard. </p>
<p>It wasn't truly the fasting that bothered him. It was the visions. The sacred mushroom affected everyone differently, but it was fair to say that, the higher the caste, the greater the impact. Gammas might giggle at it, deltas might grow drowsy and pliant. Betas might be struck with a vast heedless glee. But alphas -- alphas who had Her favor could be granted a chance to see <i>Lupa</i> in the earthy smoke. This was how great Arlorr had first encountered Her, in the haze of Her divinity, and how Janote-jan-alpha had uncovered Her sacred plan to rebuild Skoll City after the leopard invasion. The greater the alpha, the likelier it was She would deign to reveal Herself. </p>
<p>Oh, usually She did not. Usually the alpha simply had the great collective vision, the vision of Her eternal hunt, and for however long it took for the mushroom to wear off would they simply believe themselves to be running alongside their dead loved ones, joyous with the chase She granted them after death. Kinbote's uncle, Erskine, had said that in fact this was what <i>most</i> saw. What Erskine saw, each time he burned a sacrifice to Her, and he did this nearly every day, for he was one of the high priests of Skoll City. Warekin also professed to enjoy regular visions of Her hunts, and Larkin probably had no notion that one could see Lupa, he was so young. Raskin, meanwhile, had once told Kinbote that She had only ever appeared to him but once, very long ago.</p>
<p>Kinbote saw Her every time. Every single time. As a child, it had terrified him, even as it had delighted Kinshasha. </p>
<p>"You are an alpha-gifted!" she had crowed. </p>
<p>For Kinshasha, religious as she had been, this was a term of art. An alpha-gifted. An alpha like Arlorr, like Janote. Like the great king Finbar-fin-alpha, who had first beaten back the leopards. All alphas had Her gifts, but an alpha-gifted was more than that. According to the Codex LLobu, that book which held Her edicts as She had given them to Arlorr and then Finbar, an alpha-gifted was one touched by that esoteric, mysterious power that omicrons to this day argued about. <i>The gift freely given</i>. </p>
<p>"It is the gift of seeing Her," Kinshasha had always told her adopted son firmly. "It must be. You are blessed, my boy. Cherish what She has given you."</p>
<p>But his hands shook as Warekin's chanting gained fervor, as the deltas stooped to pick up the first bear carcass and carry it to the altar. All behind the alphas' pew, the assembled gammas, betas, and deltas were joining in the chant reverently, in Her old tongue. So were Raskin and Larkin now, Larkin rather sulkily. Kinbote joined in as well, on automatic. But that same old dread was gathering in the pit of his belly. To stamp it down, he tried to focus on Warekin. He had not seen his brother since last night's feast, but even by then Warekin had recovered well from being locked in the garderobe. Now he was handsome and vigorous as ever, his pale skin lit by the fervor of his holy words, his broad form magnificent in the scarlet robes of a priest. He directed the deltas with flourishing arms, and then stooped to pick up coals from the brazier by the altar, so caught in his joyous chanting to Her that, like a true priest, he felt not at all the burn in his hands.</p>
<p>"Nni laŭdas Lupa pro la donaco de Kinbote, por ĉi tiu dua filo!" he shouted. "Lupa, aŭskultu nin kaj akceptu nin en vian regnon!"</p>
<p>
  <i>We praise Lupa for the gift of Kinbote, for this secondborn son! Lupa, hear us and admit us to your kingdom!</i>
</p>
<p>The chants swelled here. The mushrooms crackled and burned fast, as they always did. Eaten, they produced a pleasant buzz, but burned, they gave off a thick, heady smoke, plumes of white that fogged up the cathedral until all that was visible was the enormous wolf with her bloody-ruby claws. Kinbote could not resist trying not to breathe it in, but resistance was pointless. As the chanting became wild, the hedonistic delight of men and women feeling their senses give way, the smoke burned its way down his throat and lit up his brain. He fell to his knees, half-hitting the pew, but didn't notice that. His eyes gazed up at Her and for an instant he felt not like an alpha at all. He felt small, powerless. He knew he was not seeing Her hunt. In Her hunt, he would be in the lead. An alpha, powerful and strong.</p>
<p>He felt scraggly and pathetic as a newborn pup. He was no longer a man, now. Now he had Turned, but rather than becoming the enormous black wolf he should be, he was pitiably, pitiably small.</p>
<p>The smallest thing in the clearing. All around him, great trunks stretched up into a canopy of branches and a latticework of leaves. Something heavy and large prowled between the trunks, pressed Her great paw into the leafmeal.</p>
<p>Lupa.</p>
<p>She moved with a grace that made Kinbote want to weep. Her smell was the overpowering non-smell of heat and sunlight, potent and burning on the flesh. When She approached him, he half-wanted to cower, as he had done when he was small.</p>
<p><i>Kinbote-kin-alpha,</i> said the wolf-goddess. <i>My rare, choice weirdling, my brutal little upset.</i></p>
<p>There wasn't even a trace of humanity in Her eyes. They were completely, atrociously animal, wild and huge and devouring. The skin on Her snout peeled back to show red-stained, enormous teeth, as if She were grinning. Or as if She longed to eat him whole. </p>
<p>She was his deity. But it wasn't pleasant to be in Her sight. It never had been. It was, instead, like being immeasurably reduced, flayed down to little slivers. The Codex Llobu declared that in this state Arlorr and Janote and Finbar had made demands of Her, had entreated Her for blessings. Kinbote had rarely ever found the voice to do the same, though he'd longed for plenty in his life. Before the goddess, he was a thing diminished, a thing that existed just so She could admire Her strangest creation.</p>
<p><i>My oddity,</i> she crooned. <i>My little usurper. Blood-drenched from the birth that almost killed your poor mother, my Kinbote.</i></p>
<p>Kinbote shuddered, yipping in his puppy-state. And he knew he should ask Her for Her aid, as he had failed to do countless times. He should ask Her for help with the war, with the councils, with his business in the months ahead in Skoll City.</p>
<p>With Wisp, if he dared.</p>
<p>Instead, when his voice bubbled up out of him, he found himself saying, confessing, "Lupa. Lupa, I have claimed an omega--"</p>
<p>The wolf-grin widened.</p>
<p><i>I know</i>.</p>
<p>"I felt his mind--"</p>
<p>The Goddess somehow managed to roll Her eyes.</p>
<p>
  <i>Kinbote. I know.</i>
</p>
<p>"He is wild!"</p>
<p>
  <i>A wild gift for a wild thing. You should thank me.</i>
</p>
<p>"How can I make him understand his place, goddess? And so <i>prove</i> to you that I am a worthy alpha, that you were <i>right</i> to make me an alpha--"</p>
<p>Lupa's laughter was high, shrieking, and terrible, washing the clearing with Her mad delight. Her yellow eyes rolled with mirth, and Her snout shook, and behind Her the light of the sun, Her plaything, burst into the clearing and scorched his fur.</p>
<p><i>You won't be proving anything just yet!</i> she shrieked. <i>Oh, Kinbote! My weirdling! As if you alone could do what needs doing!</i></p>
<p>-</p>
<p>Nutmeg woke on a bed of wet cloth. He had been settled in a heap on the floor of His Lordship's bathing chamber. And he was in terrible pain.</p>
<p>He had pissed himself as he'd slept. It was the awful, sore heaviness of his chest that had him pained, so pained he loosed his bowels. It was a heaviness worse even than the collar on his neck. He whimpered and looked down, and his mind went utterly, horribly blank with fright.</p>
<p>He had tits. Large ones. Firm, round sacks of flesh with long nipples, so sore and sensitive that just brushing his fingers on the hot skin made him tear up. The theta had manipulated his flesh, as thetas did. Likely pumped him with something as well, for thetas worked with chemicals and poisons as readily as they worked with the body. </p>
<p>It was better than losing his clit. It was. It was.</p>
<p>So why -- why was he keening with horror and pain? He caught sight of himself in one of the bathing chamber's mirrors and could hardly contain his wild upset. He had seen his reflection before, seen how plain and thin and undesirable he was, and been resigned to that. Now, he missed it. The omega in the mirror wasn't him. It was a creature with firm, high tits, plump large ones like Bonbon's. It wasn't <i>him</i>.</p>
<p>His collar had been tied to a loop in the wall, so he could not move far. But he wanted to get out of the mirror's glare. When he shifted off of the piss-soaked cloths he nearly fell over. It was the weight. He had to <i>move</i> differently, to account for the fat mounds Ataleia had coaxed into being. And moving made them jiggle, which made them ache anew, which made his tears fall faster. He settled on his hands and knees above the tiled floor for a moment, heaving up breaths, trying not to vomit. </p>
<p>After he cried and shook a bit, mind trying in vain to register this new horror, there came a bright whistle.</p>
<p>Nutmeg glanced up fearfully.</p>
<p>He had met a few of of Kinbote's staff by now. Ataleia. Scawmin the burly blond psi, and plump Zoree the tau, who could appear from thin air when the prince called. Ingwret, the upsilon with the crooked teeth who brought meals. But the tattooed sigma who entered the bathing chamber was new to him.</p>
<p>"Awake, are we?" he said, coming over and freeing Nutmeg's chain. "Pick up your bedclothes, then. 'Leia said you might piss yourself -- seems that's a common reaction to a tit-modding. Funny, isn't it? Lambdas go in for increasing their chest size all the time, but they never admit to pissing themselves afterwards. Come on now, up with you! Pick them up and put them in the bin!"</p>
<p>The sigma had a small, light crop in his long-fingered hands, the sort used on bad horses. He snicked it out in Nutmeg's general direction, forcing the omega to rise on unsteady legs. Under his pale gaze, Nutmeg hurriedly gathered up the drenched, nasty-smelling bedding and put it in the bin nearby. After he did this, the sigma gestured to the enormous sunken tub before Nutmeg.</p>
<p>"Go on. You can have a bath. You'll need to be clean when the prince returns, won't you? Can't have him fucking a little piss-bucket, even if you <i>do</i> have nice tits. Don't worry about the soreness. It will go down in a few days, after we’ve finish stimulating the milk ducts."</p>
<p>Milk ducts? Nutmeg's eyes went wide and more fearful still, but now the sigma was lashing out with the crop again. He could have hit Nutmeg easily -- he was a sigma, blessed with perfect aim -- but evidently he just wanted to frighten him. This was easily accomplished, for Nutmeg was basically frightened already. Now the very operation of his body frightened him. His back hurt from the sudden added weight, and his balance was horribly off. He nearly fell into the tub, and when his fat chest hit the side of it, he whimpered at the pain.</p>
<p>"Clumsy," clucked the sigma.</p>
<p>But he started the taps for Nutmeg, leering down rather interestedly as warm water began to flood in.</p>
<p>"Nutmeg, you're called?" he said.</p>
<p>"Yes, honorable," Nutmeg said miserably.</p>
<p>"I'm Tellusin. Personal sigma to the finest alpha in Lupa's wolflands, the greatest man in the nation. I expect you didn't know you'd been claimed by the finest one, but you have been, little Nutmeg-cunt. A fine turn for you. I shall expect you to do right by him, understand?"</p>
<p>Nutmeg could hardly do anything else. Lord Kinbote owned him. Lord Kinbote could apparently craft his very body to suit his whims. He nodded, wiping at the tears on his face.</p>
<p>"None of that!" said Tellusin, and the crop lashed out again, nearly catching Nutmeg's rump. "We who serve Kinbote-kin-alpha speak when spoken to! You will say yes, or no, in response to questions!"</p>
<p>"Y-yes, honorable," Nutmeg said quickly. "This thing will try to serve Lord Kinbote very well, honorable."</p>
<p>"Better!" said Tellusin, with a grin. One of his tattooed hands -- awhirl with pictures of arrow-shot birds and rifles and what looked like military insignias -- closed on a cake of soap near where he stood, and tossed it into the water. Nutmeg reached for it obediently, to begin washing his dirty legs. It was more fragrant and less harsh than the soap omegas used, more fine even than the soap used by Larkin.</p>
<p>"What else?" Tellusin was saying in the meantime. "You'll be used to easy country life, I bet. Spoiled in the sunshine! Trained-up in that lazy, inconsistent way these countryfolk train up their omegas! But things will change now, little treat. The first step is to be kitted out with a proper whore's tools. I've spoken to Scawmin about some of it, so you can expect some of your new things to arrive today. In the meantime, I'll borrow a comb for you from Zoree. </p>
<p>“That birds' nest you call hair is to be brushed one hundred strokes each day, so it flows long and shining, a gorgeous sight for His Lordship. We will teach you how to kneel by his desk, and how to keep yourself presentable, and how to shake your hips as you crawl. How to speak, and eat, and by Lupa, how to fuck the way an omega should fuck. I never expected our Lord to claim a backwoods country omega from the keep, but I'll be damned if we don't make you the finest pet in Skoll City!"</p>
<p>Nutmeg had been nodding and obediently scrubbing himself, but now he stilled. He had forgotten, momentarily, that he was to go to Skoll City. That he was to be ripped from the keep, ripped from his family for good. Tears threatened to start flowing again, and to keep Tellusin from seeing he ducked his head and began to soap his hair, trying to hold back his sobs.</p>
<p>"You'll need to take dancing lessons, 'o course," Tellusin said. "Don't know how to dance, I bet--"</p>
<p>"No, honorable," Nutmeg managed wretchedly. "This thing does know, honorable. This thing has watched its family dance--"</p>
<p>Tellusin snorted.</p>
<p>"Some countrified twirling won't do it!" he said. "You'll be a <i>camp</i> omega half the year, Nutmeg-cunt! You'll be expected to dance before the soldiers' fire, to lift the spirits of men who have known true misery the likes of which you've never encountered, so that they can praise your alpha lord and see it their duty to follow him to their deaths! Bumpkin-bumping won't do it! No, no, I'll write Vullsinger to see about teaching you to dance properly, and to sing--"</p>
<p>Nutmeg closed his eyes.</p>
<p>He didn't know why he began to sing just then. Perhaps because he was so tired of being nothing, so tired of hearing yet another person treat him like he was <i>nothing</i>, that he longed to prove he could do something right. Or perhaps it was because Wisp had always said that singing made things better. Singing made it easier to endure the worst.</p>
<p>"<i>We survive it, haven't died yet, and we things, we are together! A family we are, a family we stay--</i>"</p>
<p>Except he wouldn't be staying. He would be ripped from them, all of them, even his mother, who was sick and had already lost one child; even Twig, who was in Master Gervaise's sights and who <i>needed</i> him.</p>
<p>The despair swamped him. He couldn't finish the song. It was everything he could do not to scream instead. He sobbed openly. He was certain Tellusin really would hit him now, but instead there was a rustling sound. </p>
<p>After a few moments, the sigma climbed into the tub, the cuffs of his trousers rolled up to avoid wetting them.</p>
<p>"Now, none of that," Tellusin said again, with a firm look on his tattooed face. The inked wolves on his cheeks danced as he spoke further, rubbing Nutmeg's shoulder. "It's a nice voice you've got! And you can carry a melody! Not all can. But that little tune sounds much too sad. I can tell why, too!"</p>
<p>"Y-you can, honorable?" Nutmeg asked, daring to look the sigma in the eye.</p>
<p>"Of course!" said Tellusin. "Fright! But Lord Kinbote is a kind master, Nutmeg-cunt. There's no need to be frightened. You may be fearful you won't live up to his needs, of course, being as he's so much your better. But we all feel that, every last one of us."</p>
<p>He bent down and picked up the soap Nutmeg had dropped, and, incredibly, began to lather the omega up with brisk movements. His coarse hands soaped the sore mounds on Nutmeg's chest, and he made an odd soothing noise when Nutmeg gave a pained little grunt, and then he dipped to the divots beneath and the skinny stomach. In not three minutes he had Nutmeg all soaped and then reached for a golden ewer with which to rinse him. </p>
<p>"Like this, Nutmeg-cunt! Fast and swift! Whenever you attend to yourself, you must be quick about it, so as to save most of your time for your lord. Aye, we'll keep you shipshape, won't we, Zoree?"</p>
<p>Now, from nowhere, the plump tau materialized. Nutmeg gave a small shriek, even though he should not have been surprised. Taus could disappear and reappear with ease, blending so cunningly into their surroundings that they could not be seen until they willed it. Likely this was why he hadn't noticed her arrival.</p>
<p>He noticed her now. She fell upon his hair, brushing it out with strong hands, attacking the tangles and making his scalp smart. As she did she counted, "--thirty-three, thirty-four, thirty-five--"</p>
<p>"That's it," Tellusin said. "Teach him. Poor thing might not know his numbers--"</p>
<p>"This thing does!" Nutmeg found himself saying, indignantly. </p>
<p>He wasn't the stupid animal they took him for. He wished he could rip the comb from her and the cloth from Tellusin -- for Tellusin was drying him now -- for he was perfectly capable of preparing himself. But he would never be permitted to use force on a higher caste, and in any case he was much weaker than they were, and his force probably wouldn't amount to much.</p>
<p>When they were done with the cleaning and brushing, Nutmeg -- who caught another sight of the omega in the mirror and found the creature to be both strangely pretty and predictably terrified -- was bustled to his Lordship's bedchamber. Again he had to crawl, and this time Tellusin used his crop to make Nutmeg nearly <i>prance</i>, to direct him with swishes and flicks as to the best way to shake his hips and make the crawling into something almost lewd. Nutmeg became very caught up in it, shaking his bottom and going fast enough to make his new tits jiggle. He could only think, half-despairingly, that Master Gervaise would have liked to have a Tellusin about, to have helped with the omega shows. </p>
<p>"That's it!" the sigma cackled, as Zoree pushed open the great door to the chamber and Nutmeg hustled in, trying to avoid the crop. "Be a graceful little pet! Just like that! You must always be performing for your alpha lord!"</p>
<p>In the chamber, Ingwret had a bowl of something hot and creamy waiting by Nutmeg's cage. It was rich and sweet, and when he was directed to eat it he did so, but Tellusin stopped him periodically to arrange him.</p>
<p>"Wave your little rump a bit as you eat! Yes! Like that! And mash those pretty tits into the floor, like you want them stimulated. You must only be still when his Lordship commands, and then you must be <i>very</i> still!"</p>
<p>Somehow, this was worse than the shows. It was as if Nutmeg was expected to <i>always</i> be a wanton bitch, even at quite mundane tasks. </p>
<p>He was a show-omega always now. That was why he had been made so lovely, given these desirable tits. The thought was acutely horrible.</p>
<p>“We have a few days, while his Lordship attends the devotional ceremonies, to prepare you for Skoll City,” Tellusin was saying in the meantime, pacing to and fro on the marble floor. He flicked his crop at nothing in particular as he did so. He seemed the sort to always need to be moving, always need to be jittering. His tattoos flickered in the chamber’s golden lamplight, and his words were animated. </p>
<p>“In Skoll, omega, your kind aren’t permitted to laze about the way they are in the country! For they’re as plentiful as street dogs. For a single coin, one can purchase ten or twelve at the brothels, or indulge in seeing you rip each other to pieces in the fighting pits. You get wild out there, little more than animal bitches. But when you are claimed, little Nutmeg-cunt, you are elevated by the kindness of an alpha! And you are expected to repay this kindness by becoming <i>civilized</i>. When his Lordship is not using you or putting you to use, you will clean yourself -- inside and out, mind! -- and prepare yourself for his attentions. </p>
<p>"We're a shipshape household, and once we are in Skoll our blessed Vullsinger-kin-lambda and Eskella-kin-gamma will take you in hand to teach you the finer points, but since I'm the highest caste here save 'Leia and his Lordship, I will begin your education!"</p>
<p>And now Scawmin the psi entered, as if on cue. He carried a large wrapped bundle in his brawny arms, which he placed on one of Kinbote's carved marble tables at Tellusin's direction.</p>
<p>Tellusin grinned again, his face-wolves stretching and wavering.</p>
<p>"Your toilet, little Nutmeg-cunt. Or the beginnings of it. Every day, you'll wake and serve His Lordship as he likes, and take the figging he's ordered for you. Then you'll go to 'Leia, who will work on you in stages--"</p>
<p>Nutmeg couldn't help it. He gave an unbidden cry of fear.</p>
<p>"--none of that! You're a civilized bitch now. Use <i>words</i>," Tellusin said, with a flick of the crop. "Where was I? Oh, yes. 'Leia will be using this time to prepare you to his Lordship's specifications, bit by bit, as so much work at once might well make you dead from pain! But that's no matter. After 'Leia, you shall clean yourself, and eat, and prepare your holes for when his Lordship returns. And then, if there is time, you will train yourself properly. The rest of us will assist, if we are told to help you. But, really, we cannot be expected to spend so much time on an omega. So we have found you the tools you need to make <i>yourself</i> better. Here -- let us begin with this!"</p>
<p>The contraption he pulled from the bundle left Nutmeg momentarily stupefied.</p>
<p>It folded out into a sort of metal panel, clearly of zeta construction. The panel had whirs and gears at its base, but when Tellusin fiddled with it, those folded away, and it reshaped itself neatly into a sort of high mechanical stool. Tellusin set it on the floor, still grinning, and then stooped and worked a catch in the back.</p>
<p>With another whirring noise, a rubbery <i>cock</i> came out, mid-sized but very thick, the color of ruddy flesh. </p>
<p>Tellusin flicked it, and set it swinging a bit. He gave a wild cackle when he caught sight of Nutmeg's wild eyes.</p>
<p>"This was hard to find out here in the country, little o-cunt! But it's an essential part of every brothel, and quite a tidy sum the zetas make of selling them. Partly of leopard design, o'course, every good bit of mechanics is, for those bastards know their way around gears nearly as well as they know poisons! Makes me proud when I see the secrets we pry from their hands turned to a wolflands purpose, though! Now come here -- you'll find it's quite easy to use when I've shown you."</p>
<p>Nutmeg didn't want to come. He desperately wished he could turn tail and run away. But he was acutely aware that Scawmin was standing by one door, arms crossed, staring interestedly at him; and Zoree was likely about as well, if not the rest of Kinbote's staff. So he crawled from his now-empty food bowl to the spot where Tellusin had set the stool, a bare bit of marble floor just beyond the fine carpet, in a mirrored corner by a window.</p>
<p>He stopped when he reached the cock-stool. It was cleverly designed enough that it made a tall, sturdy fixture, its inner workings hidden in its legs, with the rubber cock poking up from the seat into the air.</p>
<p>Something pearled at its head.</p>
<p>"Loaded it with oil," Scawmin grunted.</p>
<p>Tellusin rubbed his tattooed hands together, chuckling.</p>
<p>"Good! Good. Nutmeg-cunt, be mindful that if you're good, it will be oil pumped out of your toy, to keep it slick and hot for you, but if you're bad, his Lordship might order ginger-paste! Or worse. But this little toy shall otherwise be your <i>very best friend</i>, cuntling! You can train your throat, cunny, or arse on it, and it will adjust very well to each! Nutmeg's little throne, it shall be. Now, get up and fit your little back rim on it, and I'll show you how it works! This way -- this is the front!"</p>
<p>Indeed, Nutmeg saw one bright blue symbol on one side, and another on the other, and Tellusin began to launch into hurried instructions as to how to position himself according to the symbols, in a variety of poses. Bent over it to suck the rubber cock, with his tits on either side, or to apparently rub the thing off <i>with</i> his tits, or sinking his holes onto it from the top. Nutmeg's mind was whirling, confusion and unease making all this difficult to internalize, but the sigma wasn't to be dissuaded. His coarse tattooed hands helped Nutmeg up and directed him into a sitting position on the cold metal, lining up the thick oiled rubber cock to slide into Nutmeg's arsehole with only a bit of firm resistance.</p>
<p>It slid in almost pleasantly. Nutmeg scarcely felt the stretch, and gave a little sigh of surprise. </p>
<p>"Loose!" cackled Tellusin, directing Nutmeg's hands to lie by his side. "Well, that's to be expected, isn't it, Nutmeg-cunt? Not to worry. You'll be improved soon enough. Feel snug?"</p>
<p>Nutmeg began to nod despite his trepidation, since a stubby cock in his arse was quite normal for him. A bit comforting, even. At least he wasn't burning up from ginger. But his unease proved to be smarter than he was. Before he could complete the nod, there was a whir and manacles popped out. They clamped his skinny ankles to the stool legs and his wrists to the seat. Nutmeg gave a cry.</p>
<p>"Your weight triggers it, it does," Tellusin said, looking on the contraption with fondness as the little omega began to struggle and panic. </p>
<p>This earned Nutmeg his first real cropping. Light, on his feet. But enough to still him.</p>
<p>"None of that," said Tellusin, for this seemed to be his favorite phrase. "It's set to run until moonrise, Nutmeg-cunt, for that will account for the time it takes His Lordship to return from his devotions in a rut, and give you plenty of time to become used to how your little friend will train you. I'll give you a hint, though! Remember to clench!"</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>The cock in his arse fucked him mechanically. That was not the problem.</p>
<p>The problem, rather, was that if he didn't clench, it did more than fuck. It thickened, lengthened, and <i>punched</i>. </p>
<p>Nutmeg learned this quite by surprise. He learned this because, when he was alone, and had stopped crying, and stupidly relaxed on the thing, it seemed to swell to the size of a fist. It jackhammered him so abruptly and quickly that the pain knocked his breath sideways. He was bounced on it as it attacked him, beat his poor guts, the rubbery heat sliding in-out so quickly he began to bounce, shrieking. In the mirror facing him, his new big tits flew, jiggled obscenely, and sweat broke out across his body. He made guttural, stupid cries, unable to think from the brutal fucking his arse got, too fast and harsh to feel good, his whole body just a fuck-sleeve that couldn't wriggle away.</p>
<p>By the time he figured out how to calm it, he was sobbing again, uncontrollable and animal, staring at his own poor reflection and wishing he were dead.</p>
<p>But that wasn't the way to escape this punishment. He figured out soon enough that the only way to escape it was to do as Tellusin had said, and clench properly. Make his hole nice and tight, and work his body as best he could. The fucking-stool seemed to like it when he grunted and fucked back, pleasuring it as if it were a man. This was hard to do from this position, and he did not stop sweating as he tensed up his body and used what little ability and movement he had to slide along it by an inch or so. An inch up or down, while keeping his hole nice and tight. It was much, much harder than fucking a man. He couldn't even forget for an instant that his role was to make his hole snug, to clasp the rubber cock and focus on bringing it pleasure.</p>
<p>He was bone-tired, muscles sore, within perhaps ten minutes. But if he slowed or stopped, the horrible cock would balloon and start up again, and after two or three false starts of this he learned to be good for it. He fucked himself past the pain and weariness, and then did it again. And again. And again.</p>
<p>It never really felt good. That was his first terrible lesson. The cock seemed to have two settings. The first was small, stubby, and not-painful. But also not big enough to bring him pleasure, to hit the springy spot in his arse that Larkin sometimes had, or to make him feel <i>full</i>, so his cunt would drip. It would just fuck slowly, almost gently, dragging along his hurt walls without prompting much reaction in him at all. He and the dead-eyed, big-titted bitch in the mirror would be united in quiet but contained dread when it was in this state, feeling it fucking up-down in nearly a lull, a rhythmic motion that made little impact.</p>
<p>Or it would turn into a battering ram. He discovered that blood had pooled beneath his thighs from that, that it had torn him, and had to swallow a tortured breath. If he focused on that, he would not be focusing on cock. And then it would hurt him again. He knew this intimately by the end of the first hour. The fucking stool was designed to keep him on the edge of terror, to make him quite compliant.</p>
<p><i>Clench</i>, he thought. <i>Clench.</i></p>
<p>There was nothing else he could think. He fucked himself by micro-increments, trying not to become complacent. When he would slip and feel the thing swell, the terror would be acute. He would hear himself making inhuman noises as it started to pound him, and would scream out apologies on instinct, as if it were <i>alive</i>. He knew it wasn't. But the stool made him very stupid, for it was meant to. In the back of his mind, he knew that this awful thing was--</p>
<p>It was like Lord Brindle's cock of barbs. It was a thing <i>designed</i> for destroying omegas.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>The devotion never actually ended when it ended.</p>
<p>There was a price to joining the hunt. Some lords and ladies would fall into orgiastic pleasures among themselves afterwards, eyes unseeing. Some would collapse, inert, for hours, laughing like loons. Some would peel off their clothes and run out of the church, run into the street festivities of the lower castes, where they would be permitted to fuck whatever lucky lower being they wished, where the dancing psis and taus and upsilons would make room for them, dropping to their knees before the Lupa-touched and singing praises. Raskin, in particular, always managed to be one of those, people said, and it made him very popular in his keep. It was said that a devotion-touched person was holy, was cloaked in Lupa's holiness and therefore an object of reverence, a temporary demigod.</p>
<p>Kinbote wouldn't know, since it always took him twice as long as anyone else to shake off the mushroom-addling. And while once or twice he had a vague recollection of becoming a streetfair god, hoisted up atop a parade float, with the lower castes pressing kisses to his toes, these days that hardly ever happened.</p>
<p>These days he Turned whenever he had a devotion on him.</p>
<p>The people probably still tried to kiss him. People were, as a rule, very stupid when in the middle of drunken celebrations. Thus, he was glad that he usually wasn't conscious of whatever happened when drunken revelers would approach his wolf-form, that he usually lost a great span of time between the moments in the clearing with Lupa, and the moments he began to come back to a confused, half-animal sense of himself.</p>
<p>True consciousness returned by degrees. First he would be nothing, then he would be snarling and running from the meaty, laughing bodies of the feast-revelers, then he could feel his claws striking the stone steps into the keep, and then would come the <i>scents</i>.</p>
<p>Usually, his wolf-self would aim for the kitchens. This was bad, because he really was supposed to be fasting until all the devotions had burned, and thus he would come to being struck with light whips made of rushes by terrified kitchen-upsilons, who were under orders to keep him from actually eating.</p>
<p>Now, however, one scent burned so much better than any kitchen scraps.</p>
<p>It was his scent, and yet not. It was a scent that belonged to him, that matched him, that coiled perfectly around his own. It was so sweet and promising that he growled with urgency, running to it fast and then faster, beneath the sunset-drenched twilight battlements and down marble halls, barreling through doorways and chambers until he found the source.</p>
<p>There was a creature in his place -- he knew instinctively this was <i>his</i> place -- moving slightly, whimpering slightly, on a throne of silver. A silver collar glinted around its slender neck. It had the sweet, perfect hint of submissive pain that Kinbote was accustomed to lesser creatures having. Its full chest bounced and heaved with its movements, and, even as a wolf, Kinbote approved of the sight.</p>
<p>This thing was his. Lupa had spoken of it to him. He could never precisely remember what was said -- he was always too wolf-brained after seeing Her, he thought in scents and pictures -- but She had confirmed that this thing was important and that She had gifted it to him. </p>
<p>Kinbote trotted forward, delighted as a wolf could be.</p>
<p>The bitch on the fucking-stool moaned when it saw him. It kept squirming, but its pale, nearly-yellow eyes were huge with fright. Beautiful eyes. Slanting, almond-shaped, like a little she-wolf's. Kinbote started lick the sweaty, pale brown face, and this earned him a moan again.</p>
<p>The little chest jiggled and jiggled. It was like a small animal in the brush, a plump flash of movement. The wolf liked this too. It put its tongue to the long nipples and lathed them, getting its hot breath and slobber all mingled with the sweat, and in response Kinbote's omega made such nice sounds. </p>
<p>Then he dipped his long wolf-tongue down to the sweet, soft folds of his bitch's cunt, and the pretty eyes went terrified.</p>
<p>"P-please! No! Please, I--I can't relax, it will <i>kill</i> me--"</p>
<p>Now the pain and fear spiked, and the wolf gave a high whine of displeasure. Its lovely bitch was <i>afraid</i>? Why? </p>
<p>But no. Now some clarity was coming back to him, bit by bit, slow but steady. This was -- in his human form, he would know it for an omega-throne. And it was a terrible but necessary thing, a thing they used to make omegas into good, proper toys for the higher castes. So of course his Nutmeg was afraid of it.</p>
<p>He began to dig his snout into the sweaty, blood-streaked crevices beneath the boy's pretty thighs, trying to figure out how to free his bitch. In response, the boy freely sobbed, still squirming in that nice way, still making his new tits jiggle. Kinbote growled, frustrated, as he made no progress in getting his bitch down. He growled again, tongue lapping the salty brown skin, and then something in him remembered to shift itself.</p>
<p>Yes. Yes. Like this. So he had broad arms like this, and a broad man's body. So he could tug at the manacles holding Nutmeg in place. As he pulled, the growl ever-low in his throat, the sun sank behind the windows, and the moon reigned. There was a click from the omega's throne, but Kinbote didn't hear it, for now the manacles had popped open. He made a noise of triumph and lifted his bitch off, and in response Nutmeg's scent became <i>beautiful</i>.</p>
<p>Smooth and thick with relief, perfumed with gratitude. Gratitude. Kinbote was not yet himself, and his thoughts remained scattered, animal-like, but he knew that he had not yet received the omega's gratitude, not until this moment. Nutmeg sobbed in his arms, thin arms reaching around his chest, and the low, purring voice said, "Th-thank you, my Lord. This thing thanks you, oh thank you, oh please don't put me back on it, oh <i>please</i>--"</p>
<p>Kinbote didn't really register the words. He was too busy taking deep sniffs of the long, shining head of hair, patting the trembling back. The boy's nice new chest dug into his own, those long, pretty nipples rubbing his alpha lord, the gorgeous sacks of titflesh still shaking with his sobs.</p>
<p>And now Kinbote was hard. Very hard. This was the other side effect of the devotions for him -- an overpowering wave of lust. He dropped to his knees, the movement bumping into and knocking over the useless omega throne, which clicked and whirred in response. He dumped his gorgeous boy-bitch on the edge of the carpet, on his back. Nutmeg stared up at him with enormous eyes.</p>
<p>"M-my lord? Alpha?" he managed to squeak.</p>
<p>Alpha. Alpha. </p>
<p>What a delicious word that was in the omega’s mouth. </p>
<p><i>Never fear</i>, Lupa had said, as She always said. <i>You are an alpha. I know you occasionally doubt it. But I made you so, and so you are. As for the omega--</i></p>
<p>
  <i>No. He isn't a usual omega. But then I didn't make you the usual kind of alpha, did I, my weirdling?</i>
</p>
<p>He usually hated it, whenever Lupa reminded him of his freakishness. But now he didn't hate it. Now, with the clarity of the animal-brain on him, he grinned.</p>
<p>Lupa had crafted him strange. But She'd gifted him a strange little partner to match him. One he would subdue for Her, in thanks to Her for giving him his place.</p>
<p>He reached down and squeezed one pretty tit, grinning at the omega's broken little moan. Then he fumbled with the stupid lacings on his tattered man's trousers, until his cock sprang free. When he leaned over, too eager, too-animal, it caught not on the giving cunt but on the sloppy hole further back, making his boy-bitch arch his back with another cry.</p>
<p>Kinbote fucked in anyway, loving the way the hot tunnel squeezed him.</p>
<p>What a good omega, that knew to clench like this.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Pack</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Somehow, despite the fact that he served one man instead of many, Nutmeg's routine tripled in intensity.</p><p>Lord Kinbote fucked like no one else in the keep. That first night after Nutmeg had been introduced to his 'throne,' as Tellusin liked to call it, Kinbote had knotted Nutmeg's arse, then his cunt. The huge, hard knot had burned first against Nutmeg's sensitive pucker, forcing its way in with a stretch that made him scream and thrash about. And by the end, the ropes of cum pumped into Nutmeg's gut had made his belly swell so great it was like he was breeded with get. His body had bounced on the knot not for one round but two, and each time he had felt it firm and hard like a brand inside him. His hands had scrabbled at his swollen belly and he'd tried to beg his alpha lord to let up. But the alpha had just kept thrusting, kept fucking him into submission. Kinbote had been lusty and wild, clearly somewhere beyond awareness, in what Tellusin later said was his holy rut. </p><p>"Lucky little slut!" the sigma had cackled. "To serve an alpha in rut, an alpha touched by Lupa Herself, is nicer than your little throne, isn't it?"</p><p>"Yes, honorable," Nutmeg had admitted.</p><p>He had cum some three times, despite being sore and enflamed with pain in his arse and cunt and swollen belly. The knot, the smell, the feeling of being brutally fucked into the carpet, dominated by his alpha pounding the very <i>thought</i> out of him--</p><p>It was not any <i>nicer</i> than the evil rubber cock on his throne. But it had answered a craving in him. He'd been good and submissive by the end, whimpering his alpha's name, in that blank and perfect place again.</p><p>Then, later, he hated himself for it. For proving Kinbote right once more. His place was beneath his alpha, fucked stupid. Made into a dumb little slut.</p><p>He would have killed to be returned to the show-pups and gloryhole now. He would have begged for it, if he'd thought anyone would have listened. At least then, he'd had some space to believe himself more than a bitch. </p><p>Now, he usually woke on his alpha's cock. Kinbote slept like the dead, like a bear in hibernation. It was a side effect, Tellusin explained, of his Lordship fasting. That great alpha body knew that to conserve energy, it must sleep until about midday. In his sleep, Kinbote would sometimes let out a wild growl, or call with strange, sudden clarity to Lupa.</p><p>"It's the hunt still in his mind, aye," Zoree would whisper, eyes lit with reverence, as she bustled about cleaning his Lordship's chamber. </p><p>"He hears Lupa," Scawmin would say, when he would come in to lay out the alpha prince's clothes. "Such glory as he sees! Glory we cannot ever see!"</p><p>"The most sacred state he can be in," Ingwret the upsilon would declare, whenever he came by with a cup of fattening creamy broth for Nutmeg -- which was regularly, every hour in the morning, for Lord Kinbote had declared the omega was to be fattened. "Save his Turned form, of course!"</p><p>After the first few days, Nutmeg came to know the Turned form well. It was a beast as tall as he was, a slavering mass of muscle in the dark. Its teeth were as long as Nutmeg's forearms, its horrible red gums and hot breath petrifying to the omega. That was the state Lord Kinbote would return in each night, the state in which he would always begin sniffing about the omega. It was like being confronted by Lupa Herself, and Nutmeg would go tense with misery before the animal, feeling himself small and low and worthless.</p><p>Of course, that was how Kinbote <i>wanted</i> him to feel. That was why, though Nutmeg rose around midday and was bedded each night with an early, hard fucking until he passed out on cock, the hours in between were packed with sordid moments for the omega.</p><p>When Lord Kinbote woke, as promised, Nutmeg was forced to attend to him. To stand with his thighs quivering, cradling that enormous prick between his legs as the alpha lord took his morning piss. To get on his knees after and clean the huge head with his mouth, respectfully, remembering to say, "Thank you, alpha," for the dirty taste that made his empty little cunt clench. While Kinbote drank a pale green tea -- the one thing he was permitted to imbibe during the period of devotions, a fact that seemed to make the alpha lord very irritable -- Nutmeg would eat his own breakfast off his Lordship's cock, licking the thick milk-and-fat cream he'd been prescribed off of the massive pole, and with every lick making that cock stir greater and hotter. Kinbote always seemed amused by this despite his own hunger and irritation. The alpha lord would grab Nutmeg's silver collar and direct his head in with one powerful hand.</p><p>"There, lick down. Don't leave me with sticky balls, my bitch. What do you say for your morning feeding?"</p><p>"Thank you, alpha," Nutmeg would lisp out, from his place in the alpha's groin, head spinning with the taste of musk that overpowered the cream. It tasted foul, but he liked it. His body liked it. His body liked every part of Lord Kinbote, and so when Kinbote's cock began to weep a new cream, Nutmeg would fall on it in a dazed, self hating state, sucking at the tip hungrily as his Lordship gave a tight laugh.</p><p>"Good. Get the head in your mouth. If I had time, I'd get you choking on it, but for now I'll just let you have your dessert."</p><p>Hot, warm cum. Lord Kinbote always came mightily, ropes of cum, and Nutmeg soon learned that he didn't want the omega to waste a drop. He wanted Nutmeg to drink it like he was thirsty for it, suck it down like it was a treat and, because the dirty scent made Nutmeg so very wet, Nutmeg did. He grew very used to the musky, animal taste, and to the tingle between his thighs when he got a good morning drink of it and was left panting.</p><p>He would drop his head to his new master's thigh then, stunned by want. Lord Kinbote would run his strong fingers through Nutmeg's hair. It would be -- it would be bizarrely good. Nutmeg would blink with confusion at the softening cock before his eyes, unsure of why he was enjoying the kind touches, or why he so liked drinking this one man's cum in particular.</p><p>But then he would remember that he didn't like Kinbote. Because next, while his master bathed and dressed and addressed his morning correspondence -- letters from Skoll City, and irate missives from his brother Prince Larkin, which Kinbote would scowl at Nutmeg about, probably since Nutmeg was indeed responsible for all the trouble that had come to that poor, good prince -- while all this occurred, Nutmeg would receive his morning flushing, cramping around the cold water pumped into both of his holes. And then, once he was good and sensitive and rinsed out, shitting and loosing cum into a dirty trough for the servants to remove, he would be figged.</p><p>This he never learned to truly love. Not even as it was made clear to him that he was to do it to himself -- "My staff isn't here to serve you any more than they have to, little cum sleeve," Kinbote said, with a snort -- and it was his own fingers that were to twist the awful, hot little knob of ginger into his rear. Controlling his punishment didn't make it better. It was still a punishment, still thirty minutes per day when he was expected to torture himself.</p><p>He would be snot-faced and crying when he was done. But quiet, for among the things Scawmin had brought for him there were a variety of gags, and Kinbote would usually make him buckle one around his mouth when the cocksucking was through. This would stay on him for most of the day, after his Lordship went to his devotions. It came in particularly useful when, after the figging, the omega was made to crawl to Ataleia.</p><p>He learned to hate these visits with a sharpness and intensity that he'd hitherto reserved for hating the wolf-goddess. </p><p>The work on his tits took four days. Each time, he was lulled by manipulation of his scent gland, and then woke in a haze of pain, usually in his own piss. His new tits would grow slightly bigger each time, bigger and more sensitive, and after the fourth day they wept little pearls of white from their ugly, long nipples. They felt tight as a pair of drums, and when Tellusin showed him, with a grin, that now he could be <i>milked</i>, Nutmeg was torn between hatred and relief.</p><p>The milking made the tight pain of his tits stop. But it was a double-edged thing, for he was promptly told that only Lord Kinbote had the right to milk him. So, unless his Lord decided to do him kindness, Nutmeg was expected to live with a tight, sticky, heavy chest, forever dripping little trails.</p><p>Udder-bitches, Tellusin informed him, were a cut above regular omegas, and he should be very grateful that the theta had determined how best to make him one.</p><p>And much of the mid-afternoon, while his Lordship was still at the devotions, was spent making Nutmeg a cut above, with wringing value from a creature hitherto deemed valueless. It was like Nutmeg was a street dog Kinbote's staff were hoping to train into a hunting hound. Indeed, Tellusin cheerfully told Nutmeg that this was his usual role in his Lordship's household: training the dogs. Now Nutmeg learned to speedily wash and perfume himself, and rub his bruises with a salve that both eased the hurt and camouflaged the ugly colors. To dry and comb out his hair, and even to plait it (Zoree said that, in Skoll City, he would learn even more tricks to look appealing, once he met his Lordship's lambda). He learned how to address his alpha, how to beg for cock in the mornings, how to meekly bless his alpha for punishing him, and how to ask for another round once his alpha was done fucking him.</p><p>Then, after this training, he was trained by the fucking-stool, the so-called omega throne.</p><p>'Hate' could not summarize Nutmeg's feelings for the contraption. 'Hate' was not big enough. Nutmeg had an almost animal aversion to the thing, and won his first real beating from Tellusin for trying instinctively to run away from it, to get <i>away</i>. </p><p>"None of that!" Tellusin had roared, looking surprised by such disobedience, letting his lash fly out and stripe Nutmeg's sore tits over and over and over, until the omega was cowering in a corner. "None of that! What's got into you? Spoiled, like all country omegas, I’ll wager! You'll get on your throne like a good bitch! Come on, now!"</p><p>It seemed that the disobedience revealed some impiety in him. Soon enough, Nutmeg was forced to ride the rubber cock not before a mirror, but before a small shrine of Lupa in the servant's quarters. This was not really any better. He had never sincerely prayed to Lupa before, so now he was made to pray with his cunt. With his arsehole. To pray in suffering, trying hard to avoid the brutal jackhammer-fucking he got every time his exhausted body stopped fucking itself in place.</p><p>Though he was in the bedchamber, Kinbote would still find him by nightfall. Would still come to him as a wolf, and lick with delight at his sore, tortured body. Eventually the alpha would pull him off, drag him to the bedchamber, and fuck him just as roughly as the rubber cock did.</p><p>But this time, it would wake something in Nutmeg. This time want, not terror, would make him move his hips. Even as sore and exhausted as he was, a bright burning spot in him would stir, and he would be moaning and trembling on Kinbote's huge knot, brain sparking with pain and pleasure that grew and grew and grew until it eclipsed him, and he blacked out.</p><p>Only to begin the routine again the next day.</p><p>-</p><p>On the sixth day of devotions, when he woke with aching, drippy tits that were so tight that he mashed them into the sheets, as if by that he could force the milk out, and with muscles so sore that even these movements caused him biting pain, something in him broke.</p><p>He made it through Kinbote's ablutions, and gratefully sucked cock at breakfast, and even managed to blankly endure the day's flushing of his holes.</p><p>But he could not make himself twist the ginger into his arse. He could not do it. He stared at the knobbly root in his hand in a dumb, animal fashion. He knew he must fig himself. But he couldn't do it.</p><p>He crawled to his alpha lord. He wanted to crawl <i>away</i>, but even he knew that would not be received well. So he crawled to Kinbote, who was pulling on a fine blue silk shirt and tight black trousers that stretched handsomely across his great thighs.</p><p>Kinbote seemed surprised to find his bitch kneeling at his feet. </p><p>Nutmeg blinked the alpha's calves, stupid and miserable. </p><p>"A-alpha," he said, voice hoarse. It was usually hoarse these days. Even when he wore a gag, on the fucking stool he couldn't help but scream himself silly. "P-please. Th-this thing c-cannot..."</p><p>He held out the knobbly root, as his voice failed him utterly, his fear of punishment swamping his ability to confess to his own inadequacy.</p><p>Kinbote's dark eyes narrowed. He looked oddly young like this, even with his thick black brows, black beard, and scarred face.</p><p>"Shall I put it in for you today, omega?"</p><p>Nutmeg nodded exhaustedly. But a tear slid down his cheek.</p><p>"C-could you not find another way to punish me, lord?"</p><p>A punishment that wasn't the ginger. That wasn't the fucking stool. He had been on his so-called throne five days in a row now, with a burning arse and sore cunt, and he could not take it again. He knew he couldn't. He heaved in breaths, unable to calm himself as he thought of the day ahead.</p><p>Kinbote's hand settled on his head. The alpha lord's other hand reached for his desk, for a white silken kerchief lying carelessly next to his papers, and then Kinbote was carefully rubbing the tears from Nutmeg's face. The touch was -- was so gentle. So <i>kind</i>. Nutmeg leaned into it on instinct, even though it confused him.</p><p>"I told you you would take a figging every day for a month, omega. That was my word given to you. You must never ask me to go back on my own word--"</p><p>Here Kinbote shook one of Nutmeg's shoulders with the hand holding the kerchief, to punctuate the point, but not especially harshly. </p><p>"--it is not appropriate! However, little bitch--"</p><p>"This thing begs your pardon," Nutmeg rasped. "B-but my lord alpha's word was given for a daily <i>punishment</i>. Not a daily figging."</p><p>He didn't have the strength to dare look Kinbote in the face. But he could feel the alpha lord's stupefied reaction, as if they were still joined by thought. Kinbote likely hadn't expected Nutmeg to pay attention to what he had actually said.</p><p>Well. Nutmeg had. He wasn't stupid. Not normally. He was just stupid right <i>now</i>, and now probably he had earned himself a harsher figging than ever before, but he still had to try. </p><p>When Kinbote spoke after a few moments, he sounded almost flustered.</p><p>"So I did, little slut. I did. I was going to wait until Skoll City to broaden your punishments, but I suppose I can tell 'Leia to-- well. Well, today you <i>will</i> take the figging--"</p><p>Nutmeg crumpled in on himself, defeated and unable to hide it. This only seemed to make the alpha more flustered. Now Lord Kinbote gathered him up, and the exhausted omega felt himself raised into the air. He opened his eyes and Kinbote was actually holding him, patting his thighs and saying hurriedly, "--it's not meant to be something you like, Nutmeg! It's a punishment. So you will take it. But you're drained today. That was never my intention -- to tire you. I don't -- I have no <i>use</i> for a half-dead bitch, you understand? I need you hale. You will stay off of the omega throne today--"</p><p>Nutmeg gave a cry of wild, sincere gratitude. He clasped the alpha lord around the shoulders, dazed with relief, and said, "Thank you, alpha, thank you, oh <i>thank</i> you--"</p><p>"Yes, yes," Kinbote said hurriedly. "It's no matter. No throne training today. You ought to have one day a week to rest, in any case. You can go see Wisp instead, since I'm sure you haven't yet--"</p><p>Now Nutmeg was insensible, his gratitude absolute. He stared at his alpha master with shining, confused eyes.</p><p>"R-really?" he rasped out. "You would let me see my mam, lord?"</p><p>In his dazed joy, he forgot to call himself a thing, or to address his lord properly. But Kinbote seemed as befuddled as he was, for some reason, and didn't notice either slight.</p><p>"Of course," he said, blinking a bit. "I -- why should you think I <i>wouldn't</i>? Wisp is your mother, Nutmeg. I don't mean to keep you apart."</p><p>-</p><p>After his figging, after Ataleia lulled him to sleep and left him waking with his little cocklet oddly, strangely sensitive to touch, the soft member feeling every press of his thighs in a way that made his voice hitch, after his quick bath and a quicker feeding, Nutmeg was led to Wisp.</p><p>He had glimpsed his mother in Kinbote's mind, wrapped in soft blankets on a soft bed, before a pretty window, in the light. It had been such a nice vision that, over the past few days, he had learned to mistrust it. Surely Kinbote -- Kinbote who tormented Nutmeg every second he could -- would not have been so kind to Nutmeg's mother. Surely that image had been a lie.</p><p>But it was true. When Ataleia opened the door to a round tower room, all painted with birds and a blue-sky ceiling, there was Wisp sleeping quietly on the bed, his thin chest rising and falling.</p><p>Nutmeg forgot to crawl. He sprang up and ran to his mother with a wail of joy, falling on Wisp and clutching him close.</p><p>"Mam," he found himself sobbing. "Mam!"</p><p>But Wisp, though rosy-cheeked, though hale-looking, didn't stir. His beautiful brow creased and he frowned a bit, but he only shifted in his son's arms, deep in slumber still. Nutmeg stared at him with confusion.</p><p>"I've induced a rest," called the theta physician, from the door. "Your poor mother was in a <i>bad</i> state, little slut. And it would be worth more than my hide to have let him die, after Kinbote demanded I find a way to make him live. So we've been feeding him by little drips, trying to get him fat and healthy as we're trying with you. When he's reached the weight he should, 'stead of skin and bones like all you omegas seem to be, I will wake him. In the meantime, you may pass the evening with him, as his Lordship has said."</p><p>Then, with a wry grin, she stepped back and closed the door. </p><p>Nutmeg almost wished she would have stayed, for all that he hated her. He wanted to ask her what, precisely, had been wrong with Wisp, and how she had healed him. And if she would help Wisp when he woke, if she would help soothe him when he realized the omega pup had been lost, or if Nutmeg would be allowed to hold his mother then, as he was holding him now, and attend to Wisp's grief.</p><p>He would ask Lord Kinbote. He would beg. He didn't want Wisp to have to face that terrible reality alone.</p><p>Now he drew Wisp in closer still. There in the warm little bed, with the afternoon light falling on them from the window and the soft, even sound of Wisp's unhindered breathing, he no longer seemed to hurt so much. The hurt of his muscles, chest, and holes was inconsequential. Wisp was clean and calm and alive in his arms, and so Nutmeg, somehow, had not failed him too much. Nutmeg's stupid ploys to keep Wisp alive had been <i>worth</i> something.</p><p>It was a tender, poignant joy. But it was the happiest he had been in a long time. He let himself enjoy the feeling for as long as he dared, as the sun crawled across the bedcovers.</p><p>"Mam," he whispered. "Will he let us take you to Skoll City, Mam?"</p><p>He couldn't dare hope it. But he did hope it. Ataleia had claimed Kinbote wanted Wisp to live. Surely an alpha would not keep an omega alive if he didn't have a use for that omega. Maybe -- maybe Kinbote planned to claim Wisp as well. The more he thought it over, the more that seemed the logical thing. Nutmeg's mother was so much prettier and better than Nutmeg, with longer limbs and a fuller chest, even now. Wisp was such a beauty that it made no sense not to claim him, probably, and with giddy glee Nutmeg realized that this meant he would not have to be parted from his mother.</p><p>Only--</p><p>Only he would still be leaving the others. Bonbon, Dainty, Patch, Pocket, and the children. And Twig. Twig, now pressed into service by the Master, a Master who was surely punishing him for Nutmeg's transgressions.</p><p>Nutmeg looked down at his mother's face. Guilt was blooming in his chest.</p><p>"Mam," he said urgently. "Mam, I have to help Twig!"</p><p>-</p><p>Nutmeg was supposed to feel low because he was an omega, and was low. But he normally didn't feel that. No, he tended to feel low more often because he was stupid and selfish, because he could get so wrapped in his own misery that he forgot that of others. That was what he had done now. He'd been so pathetic, crying and dripping whorish slick all over Lord Kinbote, that he had spared only the briefest thoughts for what his younger brother would be enduring. </p><p>Nutmeg had been trained brutally by the Master. But Nutmeg had had Wisp there to help him bear it. Twig would have lost Wisp and his brother in one fell swoop, right when he needed them most. And the others would help him, of course they would. Omegas always helped each other. But Nutmeg could not think of the loss, grief, and misery his brother must be feeling.</p><p>By the time the light had dwindled to an evening sunset coloring the coverlet purple, he came to a resolution.</p><p>He would beg Lord Kinbote to claim Twig as well.</p><p><i>Why not have the whole family, Lordship?</i> He would say that. It was very reasonable.</p><p><i>Twig is newer and younger, far less used than this thing, Lordship. </i>Alpha<i>-Lordship. And he is very obedient! He knows his place. Twig is much better than this thing, and so much prettier! Curls, Twig has, such shining beautiful ones. And his eyes are so pretty and large, large as Mam's. And if the rest of Twig is not to your liking, you can fix him up as you have fixed up this thing--</i></p><p>No. No, at that, Nutmeg cringed. He could feel, abruptly, the heaviness of his tits, and the raw sensitivity of his soft little cocklet. He did not want these things also done to Twig.</p><p>But perhaps it was better than the alternative. And, this way, their family would be together. Him, Twig, and Wisp. </p><p>As he clutched his mother tight, debating the matter, a huge black snout pushed open the door.</p><p>Of course. It was nightfall. Kinbote had returned.</p><p>This room caught more moonlight than his Lordship's bedchamber, and so tonight Nutmeg had a better vision of the great black wolf. It moved with eerie precision for such a large thing, its huge footpads soundless on the stone floor. When it reached Nutmeg it gave a deep sniff, and its long red tongue spooled out.</p><p>Nutmeg cringed, but didn't try to move away. The wolf liked to lathe his tits, lapping up his sweat and the occasional dribbles of his milk. Nutmeg shifted Wisp slightly to get his mam out of the way and patiently, obediently waited for it, even thrusting his heavy chest out a bit to give the animal better access.</p><p>But Lord Kinbote didn't lick him. At least, not the way he usually did. Instead, the huge wolf clambered awkwardly onto the bed, its enormous body blanketing Nutmeg, who squeaked. He and Wisp were soon bedded under the hot, heavy, furry body, and <i>then</i> the animal began to lick. Joyously. Not with its usual wanton demand, but in little yippy bursts, shaking happily like a puppy. Its black eyes danced, and its long tail wagged. Nutmeg, breathing heavily beneath its weight, stared up at it in confusion.</p><p>The wolf wasn't even hard. Nutmeg wasn't sure he'd ever been like this, stretched out beneath an animal, and not known the attendant shame of being certain he'd be forced to fuck it.</p><p>For many long moments, the wolf pressed its snout to their hair, licking and yipping, and let its tail wag happily. Its delight was evident, and particularly focused on Wisp, whom it seemed to sincerely love. Then there was a sort of shift in the moonlight, and Nutmeg blinked, his eyes beholding things they always promptly forgot, so shocking and improbable did the change appear to his mind.</p><p>And then Kinbote was there. His blue shirt was stained now, his trousers ripped along one seam. His eyes had the glassy, unformed look they always did when the goddess was still upon him. But he stopped licking. Instead, his fingers traced Wisp's delicate face.</p><p>"Wisp," he said hoarsely.</p><p>He looked -- he looked so intent. For a moment, Nutmeg wanted to cry, and did not know why. No one, much less a fine alpha lord, had ever looked on him so intently. But then, no one generally looked at Wisp like that either, for all that Wisp was a beauty. And Wisp deserved to be stared at like this.</p><p>Like he was an object of reverence. </p><p>"Wisp," Kinbote mumbled again. "Pack. My Wisp."</p><p>Then he shifted to the side a bit. With that movement taking the bulk of his weight off of Wisp and transferring it to the other omega in the bed, he seemed to notice Nutmeg for the first time.</p><p>Strong, clumsy fingers ran through Nutmeg's hair. Nutmeg stared up at the alpha lord, swallowing hard, and then Kinbote leaned down. Nutmeg felt Kinbote's breath on his face, and closed his eyes from shock and fear.</p><p>But all the alpha lord did was press a kiss to his eyelids. Soft. Gentle. </p><p>It was so strange and unlikely that the minute it happened, Nutmeg was certain he had imagined it. He was left to tremble beneath his alpha, eyes closed very tight, wondering if he had gone mad.</p><p>Then the deep voice rumbled out, still thick with some goddess-made madness.</p><p>"Why...are you crying?" Kinbote asked. He sounded so odd. Strangely defeated. "Why do you...always <i>cry</i>? Do you...hate me so much?"</p><p>Nutmeg opened his eyes, confused.</p><p>He did hate Kinbote. Or, well, he thought he did. He must hate Kinbote. But now that he examined it, it was simply the usual hate Nutmeg had for most things. For living as an omega, for being just two bitch-holes that Kinbote could have tortured at will.</p><p>It wasn't a hate particular to Kinbote. It was just rebellion. Because, most of the time, rebellion was all Nutmeg had.</p><p>That made it somehow acceptable, not shameful, to shake his head slowly. No. He didn't hate Kinbote. </p><p>But the alpha lord didn't seem to see this. Kinbote was making low, pained growls in his throat, and his fingers now traced Nutmeg's cheekbone.</p><p>"I don't blame you!" he forced out, gaze still wild. "Hate me if you like! I'm not right, omega. Most don't know it. But <i>She</i> does. Even She says I'm strange. I was born -- born as no alpha should be born. That was Her whim. I know not why. And I cannot thank Her for making me the way She did. I can't even understand why She should want a thing like me--"</p><p>"You are not a thing," Nutmeg said firmly.</p><p>Even he was surprised he said it. But the pure loathing in Kinbote's voice and scent stirred something in him. There was a disquiet, a self-hatred, laid bare in the alpha's face, and Nutmeg knew that this was not right. It wasn't right for an alpha, for a being as great as Kinbote, to feel so small. </p><p>Nutmeg knew what that was, that feeling of smallness. He was shocked, now, to find that he wouldn't wish it on anyone.</p><p>"You are not a thing. You are the greatest alpha lord, everyone says so. You -- you are the alpha who went to war as a boy with Lord Uskind, and escaped the clutches of the leopards, and saved many men from capture--"</p><p>Kinbote made a wounded noise.</p><p>"No," he said, one of his hands gripping Nutmeg's shoulder hard enough to bruise. "<i>No</i>. You don't understand. Uskind, and -- and so many others -- they died because of me. She had us captured because of me, because of my rebellion. Those are the costs of rebelling against Her will, do you understand, omega?"</p><p>He shook Nutmeg roughly, his voice growing heavy and his eyes going wet.</p><p>"If not for my wish to subvert Her order, things would have turned out differently. I know it! That is why -- that is why I <i>must</i> fix you, boy--"</p><p>His hands groped at the silver collar, making Nutmeg squirm.</p><p>"I will show you," Kinbote said desperately. "I will show you what I've lived, what I am, so you will understand. I will show you how my defiance damned my family, my--"</p><p>"No!" Nutmeg protested.</p><p>He didn't want to see. The loathing and guilt in Kinbote's tone suddenly made sense to him, for it was so familiar. It was the same ugly little pit that Nutmeg had, thinking of Twig. Nutmeg wriggled until he could get a hand free of Kinbote's bulk, and then he instinctively reached up to touch the tears on the alpha's face.</p><p>"You don't need to show me, lord," he said firmly. </p><p>Who would that help? Such shame was a private thing. It should not be displayed, made a humiliating bauble. Nutmeg rubbed away the streak of wet on Kinbote's scarred cheek and said, firmly, "It is between you and the goddess, alpha. But I believe She loves you -- She would not have made you Her alpha if she didn't! -- and that--that you are great. You must be. You have been. You have saved my mam, and that alone makes you great in my eyes."</p><p>As he said this, he realized that it was true. Cruel as Kinbote was, he had done something very kind for Wisp, and that mattered. And while a part of Nutmeg should be confused over Kinbote's mad ravings, he wasn't confused in the least. Why should despair confuse Nutmeg? Despair was a natural thing. This was about the most relatable the alpha lord had ever been. And, though Nutmeg could have begged to know more about why he had such guilt over Uskind, Nutmeg didn't really want to know. It <i>was</i> between Kinbote and the goddess. Nutmeg, who had his fair share of awful mistakes to account for, could not have judged Kinbote no matter what the facts really were.</p><p>So he didn't ask for the facts. He surged up, wrapped his arms around the alpha's warm neck, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. </p><p>The growl the alpha gave now was rich, lush, and went straight to his cunt. Kinbote turned his head, the action smooth and swift and natural, as if they were partners in a dance, and brought his lips to meet Nutmeg's. This second kiss was a deep thing, setting Nutmeg's whole body humming. </p><p>And now his Lordship's cock was firming up, thick and strong enough to be felt through the coverlet.</p><p>Kinbote's arms closed around him. He pushed himself off the bed and lifted the omega up for the second time that day, saying, still wild, "I -- I cannot do this by Wisp. Come. I will have you--"</p><p>And he kissed Nutmeg fiercely again, with a fervor that made Nutmeg whine and kiss back on instinct.</p><p>"--I will have you. I <i>have</i> you. How can the Goddess reward me so? Even when I'm still so rebellious, Nutmeg--"</p><p>Nutmeg blinked. Now he was curious. A bit curious. He adjusted himself in the alpha lord's arms, cunt clenching eagerly, licking his bruised lips.</p><p>"Lord," he asked hoarsely. "What makes you rebellious? Why should <i>you</i> be rebellious?"</p><p>But this only made something fleeting and mournful darken Kinbote's face.</p><p>"Don't you know?" Kinbote said, his pupils wide and blown and his breath still coming erratically, for he remained goddess-touched even now. "I think of you at times the way I do for Wisp, with no care for what you are, as if you were my own pack. I should not be so weak, so defiant as to think like that. But I do."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Feeling His Place</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Every morning, Kinbote woke more bleary-eyed, confused, and irritable than the day before. On the last morning of devotions, when most of the sacrifices had burned and he could expect but one more day of wild communion with the Goddess, he ought to have been pleased. But he woke just as annoyed as he had the other days. </p>
<p>His head felt split open. He hated these ceremonies. They were right and necessary, only Lupa's due. But he hated the small sense he had in his visions; hated that he often forgot the most important things She had told him, as if Her words were too great to hold in the mind; and hated most of all how little he tended to remember of his rutting, half-mad state after each ceremony.</p>
<p>He Turned -- he could always remember the Turning. And then he probably did something wild, or possibly two wild things -- for Warekin famously tended to dance nude with ecstasy, and Larkin became a fucking machine like their father, so it stood to reason that Kinbote, too, would take coming down from the goddess-high in a bacchanalian fashion. Which would explain why, in the past, he'd ended up half-naked in the kitchens surrounded by crying upsilons begging his apology. Now, however, he tended to wake in his bed, around midday, with his cock warmed snug inside one of his omega’s holes. </p>
<p>Except for this morning. This morning, he must have slipped out of Nutmeg. The omega wasn't trembling on his prick, but was just sleeping quietly in his arms, peaceful as anything.</p>
<p><i>What the fucking cat-devil did I do right?</i> Kinbote wondered.</p>
<p>His little bitch didn't smell of fear. Not even a hint of it. Nutmeg was warm-smelling, luscious, all cream and honey. And accepting, snuggling into Kinbote's arms with a tender sweetness that had the alpha lord growing absurdly proud and happy for a moment.</p>
<p>Before Kinbote recalled that he had no idea why he should be happy.</p>
<p>Maybe it was just that he'd let Nutmeg see Wisp yesterday. Now he cringed, for he really hadn't meant to make the boy wait so long. Six days! No wonder Nutmeg had been tense and miserable. Likely he'd been worried for his mother. </p>
<p>But Kinbote hadn't really had his mind on that. Not with devotions making him go mad with divine reverence every single day. Not with the fasting making him terse and unhappy. Just before devotions, clearly, was the wrong time to take on a defiant omega. Kinbote had tried to make up for this by writing Erskine about the matter, by charging Tellusin with beginning the boy's training, and by attending to the little slut as much as he could. Nutmeg's body craved cock, knew what Nutmeg needed better than his mad little mind did. So Kinbote gave him that cock. </p>
<p>That, at least, he could say he had done right.</p>
<p>But he was certain he had made missteps, all the same. Forgetting his own promise to punish Nutmeg had not been his finest moment. Erskine always said that one needed to be firm and clear with omegas. That they needed routine, structure, and above all the safety of knowing an alpha would stand by their word. Their <i>precise</i> word.</p>
<p>Kinbote winced now, remembering that he had in fact forgotten just that.</p>
<p>At least the figging worked properly, making the omega feel his holes and know his place. And Erskine, whose letter had come yesterday, had suggested a few other approaches to help make Nutmeg come to heel.</p>
<p>
  <i>You must vary his training, so as to stimulate him with new experiences that make him understand your total control, and your greater mind and creativity.</i>
</p>
<p><i>You must not rely too much on one method or one form of punishment. He will become dead with dread if he knows fully what is coming each moment of the day, particularly if it is all punishment. And with those, he will gain some spark if he simply knows it is to be </i>a<i> punishment coming, one of many possible but limited options, some worse than the others, but some better, too. And more spark still if you give him the illusory control of picking which punishment it is to be.</i></p>
<p>
  <i>Particularly if he has been good. When he is bad, not even the illusion should be granted to him. </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>But when he is good, a scheduled punishment can be good for both of you. You can comfort him as you hurt him, and train him to know you as the source of everything in his life: all the good, all the bad.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>In this way, you teach an omega to trust you with even his fears, even his worst pains. His whole self at your mercy, as it is meant to be by the will of Lupa.</i>
</p>
<p>Not minutes after he'd read that, Nutmeg had crawled to him and asked for a new punishment. Right on schedule, as if he knew Kinbote's whims better than Kinbote did.</p>
<p>He didn't know Kinbote's whims that way. But now, with the boy sleeping so prettily in his arms, Kinbote dared to hope that this might work. That Nutmeg might really improve, and embrace the station Lupa had given him. That the lovely bitch could learn to be comfortable and grateful to have an alpha like Kinbote.</p>
<p>He turned the boy over so he could look at him.</p>
<p>The past week or so had worked an improvement on Nutmeg. The omega had no dark circles beneath his eyes now, more meat on his skinny bones, and his bruises and welts were either healed or healing. His long lashes fluttered, and his plump tits rose and fell enticingly. Kinbote parted the long legs and softly touched the tip of Nutmeg's little cocklet.</p>
<p>It didn't firm up. It would never firm up again, not after it had been bitch-gelded. But there were ways to make the flesh so sensitive to touch that the cocklet was nearly as useful. Now, just taking two fingers and giving it a small pinch caused Nutmeg's whole body to jolt, back arching, as he was prodded from sleep by what Kinbote suspected was a lightning-strike of sensation. The boy's golden-brown eyes flew open, his heart-shaped mouth gave a wail, and his cunt -- his well-fucked core -- spasmed and dripped onto the sheets.</p>
<p>"A-alpha--!"</p>
<p><i>That</i> was what Kinbote wanted to hear. Wanted to hear ruthlessly, like a prayer, a call, a supplication. Every single morning. He pressed himself over the boy, bringing their lips together, kissing Nutmeg deep. Nutmeg opened up to him, scent confused but not unwilling, kissing back as if on instinct. </p>
<p>"Good morning, omega," Kinbote said when the kiss was through, with a grin against Nutmeg’s panting mouth.</p>
<p>Nutmeg's thin hands had come to scrabble weakly against his own brawny arms. But the omega wasn't pushing him off. The brown face was flushed and expectant, the pretty eyes wide.</p>
<p>The skinny legs parted even further. Nutmeg's hips moved: squirming, submissive little bitch-movements, rubbing his hole against his alpha's thigh naughtily, asking for a fuck.</p>
<p>"A-alpha," Nutmeg panted out. "Good morning. Th-thank you for waking me. May this bitch please give you -- please have--"</p>
<p>He winced a bit, as he stumbled over the words his kind were supposed to say, still not able to just ask for what he needed. But his trembling body was even more eager than it usually was. And today Nutmeg didn't smell of so much shame and upset. There was even a hint of odd, satisfied relief in the boy. His gorgeous eyes kept darting to meet Kinbote's gaze and then shying away, as if trying to work up the courage to finally give in to his own whorish want. </p>
<p>Oh, Kinbote must have done something <i>right</i> yesterday. </p>
<p>He had been trying to keep the boy to a more-or-less strict routine. It was good for omegas to have that as they settled into being claimed. According to the texts he'd requested from the keep library, it kept their little minds at ease and didn't stretch their cognitive capacities too much, when, just as Erskine had told him, life was clear and firm, and they had some measure of what to expect. So Kinbote usually limited Nutmeg to one or two hard fucks some time in the morning, if there was time for it, and probably another hard fuck at night, if waking with the boy clenched around his cock was anything to go by. In between, Nutmeg learned to warm cock, to wash cock, to feed from cock and suck it. Nutmeg's whole day was designed to get him familiar and comfortable with his alpha's prick, the prick that his mad brain shied away from even as his more honest body desired it.</p>
<p>This morning, Kinbote couldn't help himself. He didn't want to just smack his cock at the boy. He wanted to <i>taste</i> him. He gave a growl and dove in for another kiss, and then kissed down the skinny neck, prompting more needy squirming in his omega.</p>
<p>Nutmeg's skin was soft and even, a warm-toned pale brown that flushed a bit darker when he was wanting like this. Kinbote traced the flush, kissing and licking at the fragrant, sweet-smelling skin. When he reached the firm, round tits he discovered he was delighted with Ataleia's work. They looked very natural on Nutmeg, and were so heavy and milk-swollen that just lightly sucking one nipple produced the most incredible taste Kinbote had ever experienced.</p>
<p>Milk burst on his tongue. It was cream-sweet with an edge of tart suppleness, a flavor so rare and perfect that he growled low in his throat with satisfaction. Nutmeg was shrieking beneath him, cunt soppy-wet. The boy's sobbing gratitude at having the edge taken off his tits added new honey to his scent, which in turn made the taste of the milk even richer. Kinbote drank it down lustily, savoring it, playing with the boy's other tit as he did so.</p>
<p><i>When you milk him, really get his tits used to handling,</i> Erskine had advised. <i>Make him learn the kindness you can do him while you bruise him up a bit, and soon he will begin to accept and enjoy a bit of light bruising.</i></p>
<p>It certainly didn't seem to be making Nutmeg any less wet. When Kinbote had drunk his fill from one tit, he switched to the other, and let his hand stray down to rub the boy's cunt folds. Nutmeg fucked up against his touch openly now, breathing out the most wonderful sobs of pleasure. Kinbote, who of course hadn't eaten for nearly a week, felt just as keyed up in a different way. He was -- he was quite sure that, in the past, omega milk hadn't tasted like this. Hadn't gone right to his cock. It seemed almost unholy that it did so now. Now that he had this boy's milk, he was certain he didn't want anything else.</p>
<p>His fingers slipped into the boy's cunt, and crooked, and with that movement Nutmeg came on his hands. His ragged cries made a gorgeous music. Kinbote could make this boy go boneless like this, go limp and pretty and stupid, mouthing at the air. Nutmeg's eyes were wide and glassy with pleasure as his body shook, his mouth open in an animal 'o' of submission. Kinbote made him taste his own dirty slick, and the boy sucked without thinking, obedient to the alpha that had made him orgasm. </p>
<p><i>Mine,</i> Kinbote thought. <i>And I'm going to keep you happy and well-used like this, enjoying your place and me enjoying mine. I'm going to make sure you love being mine, just like this.</i></p>
<p>But then Nutmeg was blinking and coming to. Awareness came back into the golden-tinted gaze, and the boy finally looked Kinbote in the eye.</p>
<p>"M-my lord?" he rasped. "I--were you not supposed to be <i>fasting</i>?"</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>Nutmeg had been hoping to avoid some of his torments today, as he had the day before. </p>
<p>Clearly, reminding his alpha of his own rulebreaking was not the way to go about this. The dizzying relief of being rubbed off, and milked at long last, gave way to Kinbote shoving off of him with a series of choice, enraged curses.</p>
<p>Nutmeg cowered. He could not help it. In times like this, when faced with the ire of the upper castes, he was usually put at the mercy of that ire. Master Gervaise was an inveterate kicker and beater, and liked bruising Nutmeg up to take the edge off his anger. And sometimes clients had done the same: taus and upsilons and chis and psis were all too happy to pick out an omega to beat, after a long day being dressed down by lords.</p>
<p>So, instinctively, he was quite sure he would be hurt. He curled in on himself in a corner of the bed, hands over his head, awaiting a blow.</p>
<p>It didn't come.</p>
<p>Oh, Lord Kinbote cursed a great deal. Cursed a blue streak, about how he would have to tithe heavily to the keep church and the church in Skoll City, how Warekin would be <i>delighted</i> to hear of his malfeasance and how he had enough to be getting on with right now, without also offending the Goddess.</p>
<p>But when he was done cursing he said, "Omega? What the fuck are you doing? Get up. I have to piss."</p>
<p>And his heavy hand reached for Nutmeg, dragged him upright, and took him to the bathroom. There, things passed as they might have on any other morning with Kinbote. Nutmeg held the big cock between his legs, reverently holding it in place while Kinbote pissed, then turned and kneeled on the tiles to clean the dirty, spongy head and give a gentle, respectful clasp to the heavy balls. </p>
<p>By this time, the keep upsilons, led by Ingwret, had begun to clang about in the main room, laying out a pot of tea for Kinbote and a tureen of Nutmeg's breakfast-cream. Nutmeg wasn't too sure what was in it, but it seemed to be sweet and fattening indeed, for already he had more plumpness than he’d had before, his thighs jiggling a bit, his arse a little fuller and rounder than it had been.</p>
<p>Catching sight of himself cleaning his lordship's prick in the bathing room mirror, he took in a sharp breath.</p>
<p>That omega looked a bit like <i>Wisp</i>.</p>
<p>Browner. Not so lovely, never so lovely. But there was a pleasing symmetry to the long, slender body now, and a hint of sweet fuckability that Nutmeg was quite sure he'd never had before. He'd never minded being plain, of course, because if he was plain it was so much easier to feel like he wasn't suited to being constantly fucked all the time.</p>
<p>But he was. He -- Kinbote's fucking had been gentle last night, the knot catching in him at just the <i>right</i> angle. And this morning, to be finger-fucked and milked and -- and <i>kissed</i>--</p>
<p>Right now, there was the dirty hint of sweat and piss on his tongue. But Nutmeg moaned anyway, overcome. The big cock in his mouth was heavy, sour-comforting, and -- and he hadn't been hit. This man, volatile and dangerous as he was, had not hit him.</p>
<p>Nutmeg almost couldn't understand it.</p>
<p>"That's enough. It's clean," Kinbote grunted now, becoming more confusing still by utterly refusing to glean any of the submissive relief animating his omega. He still seemed annoyed by his own earlier trespasses against the Goddess, and not inclined to pay attention to Nutmeg at all, actually. He added, short about it, "It's time for your meal." </p>
<p>Nutmeg crawled after him into the main room. No one kicked or punched him to make him do it -- he simply did it, still wondering at how he wasn't kicked or punched. And now he was remembering, sharply, the vulnerable and kind Kinbote of the night before, the Goddess-touched Kinbote who'd run a clumsy hand through Nutmeg's hair like he was afraid to hurt Nutmeg. Who'd called Wisp 'pack.' Who'd saved Wisp at all. </p>
<p>This alpha might actually have it in him to be kind. It was a contradiction. It made no sense. And Nutmeg, who had never wanted an alpha, never wanted to belong to anyone save his mother and his family, was nearly felled by the thought.</p>
<p>
  <i>He isn't wicked, like Lord Brindle was. He doesn't want to taste my suffering.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>He...he isn’t even really trying to be cruel. </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Not the way he could be.</i>
</p>
<p>Perhaps this was why, after eating his breakfast off of his Lordship's cock, Nutmeg finally did as he should have all along. Sucked cock like he was supposed to, like he'd been trained to. Not like it was about his own dazed pleasure, but to bring pleasure to his alpha. Kinbote was so big and thick it was hard to get him in deep, but Nutmeg choked and slurped obediently, taking him as deep as he could. Working his throat muscles as he sucked the pole, gagging but determined.</p>
<p>Kinbote, with a wild edge of shock to his overpowering alpha scent, helped him. Grabbed his hair and made him take the huge prick deeper, cursing now in a much more pleased fashion than before. He forced Nutmeg to bob on the cock, maneuvered Nutmeg like the toy Nutmeg was to him. When he came, it was with a roar of triumph, his hot, sticky, copious cum flooding Nutmeg's mouth. Nutmeg drank it without compunction.</p>
<p>He wanted to be stuffed with cum. He had been, last night. But he would be flushed out now. And he could only think, stunned and throat-sore, that -- that this was the only way he could keep his alpha's cum. To drink it down, to not waste a drop of it, of the dirty tacky cum-taste that he liked quite as much in his mouth as in his hungry cunt, arse, and womb.</p>
<p>When he was done, and had licked clean his alpha's prick, and given it a loving suck almost on instinct, he let a hand flutter to his belly. Savoring his breakfast.</p>
<p>"Thank you, alpha," he said, though his throat hurt. And was surprised to find that he meant it. Whatever he wished -- his pipe dreams of freedom and family, pipe dreams he still longed to make reality, if he could find a way -- even so. Even so, he had to be thankful. Lord Kinbote had proven to be much more complex, and much less vicious, than Nutmeg had assumed he would be.</p>
<p><i>That is why I must ask him to take Twig,</i> he said, settling back on the previous night's resolution. And he would have asked for that at once, but when he caught sight of Kinbote the big, scarred bear of a man looked so dumbfounded that Nutmeg, too, became dumbfounded in turn.</p>
<p>Kinbote did up his trousers distractedly. His huge hand, which had been firm on Nutmeg's skull, now began to pat the omega's head almost awkwardly.</p>
<p>"You--that was very good," Kinbote said, sounding stunned. "That was -- that was just right, how you sucked cock, omega."</p>
<p>His deep scent echoed his deep voice: thoroughly approving. Nutmeg was bowled over by the impact this had on him. It was such a rich, wonderful feeling. He knew that all this meant was that he was a good bitch -- and, really, he'd always been a decent-enough bitch, no matter what Gervaise said. Nutmeg truly did know how to suck and fuck and bring others pleasure. It was <i>all</i> he knew.</p>
<p>But, for a moment, it felt like being told he was more than that. More than a bitch. He ducked his head, overcome.</p>
<p>"Th-thank you, alpha. This thing thinks you are very kind to say so. A-alpha, may I ask--"</p>
<p>"I have to prepare for today's devotions," Kinbote said, cutting him off. "I will have to arrive early, to confess my sinful breaking of the fast to my brother Warekin. Flush yourself out, yes? We still have to punish you this morning."</p>
<p>And then he was lurching off for the bathing chamber again, with a strange, wild intensity, and Nutmeg, confused, spent several long moments trying to understand what had just happened between them.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>That morning, Lord Kinbote gave him a choice.</p>
<p>"I've been thinking," his Lordship said, when he had returned from his bath and begun to dress. Nutmeg had also cleaned himself, flushed himself out until he was little but cramped bowels and sighs of intense relief when the filthy fluids in his body rushed out of him. He was waiting on his knees by Kinbote's desk when the prince returned to pull on a silken black shirt and tight, velvety tan trousers, all cut to flatter his impressive bulk. He was very nearly handsome to Nutmeg's eyes, a fact that made Nutmeg blink in surprise.</p>
<p>"I've been thinking," Kinbote repeated. "You have been good today, omega. You must still be punished. But when you're good, you'll be allowed to choose your punishment. So what shall it be today? The figging, or something else?"</p>
<p>Nutmeg didn't even have to think about his answer. The figging was worse than painful -- it humiliated him to the core. It humiliated him because of the way he couldn't help but enjoy the pain, twitch and squirm and love the searing burn in his arse, how aware it made him of his holes, how badly he longed to be fucked brutally so the pain in his rear would feel small in comparison. </p>
<p>Anything had to be better than that.</p>
<p>"Something else, alpha, oh please, alpha--"</p>
<p>Kinbote's voice and face took on a sharp, wry amusement.</p>
<p>"Believe me, you won't want to say please. But I suppose it's in keeping with your behavior today, that you've finally learned to. Still, it's a punishment, Nutmeg. I can promise you that, as much as you don't like the figging, you won't like this either. </p>
<p>“Stand up, turn around, place your hands on the desk. And bend over, legs spread and arse out."</p>
<p>Nutmeg sprang up, obeying. He waited apprehensively as the alpha's heavy tread sounded behind him. Kinbote strode to the double-doors, where he called for Tellusin. Nutmeg bit his lip, trying not to think of what could come next. Trying to look out over the alpha's papers and books and letters -- illegible to Nutmeg, who, after all, couldn't read -- and not torment himself with thoughts of how much worse than the figging a punishment could be.</p>
<p>Lord Kinbote didn't seem to love hurting him. He had <i>said</i> as much, said Nutmeg was like <i>pack</i>, while under the Goddess' influence, and his actions bore out the truth of his words. Lord Kinbote was not cruel. Not really. Nutmeg had to believe he was not cruel, if only to make life that little bit more bearable. </p>
<p>When the alpha and Tellusin stomped back, Nutmeg stayed in position, breathing in-out, patient. </p>
<p>"Spread your legs a little more," Kinbote said, voice low. </p>
<p>Nutmeg obeyed.</p>
<p>"Good," said Kinbote. "Are you steady on your feet?"</p>
<p>"Yes, alpha," Nutmeg replied. He bent his legs a little, to show he was firmly in place.</p>
<p>"Stick your arse out a bit more -- yes. That's good. Try to stay still."</p>
<p>There was a rustle and snick.</p>
<p>"I've just handed Tellusin my belt. Stay in position, now. I'm going to tell him to give you twenty, my Nutmeg, and you must count them. If you don't count the hit, it doesn't count."</p>
<p>"Yes, alpha," Nutmeg said, and his mind was whirring with relief. Whipped with a belt! Oh, he'd been whipped with a belt <i>loads</i> of times! This was nothing, this was--</p>
<p>There was a snick, and then pain <i>exploded</i> across his mind.</p>
<p>His position made his newly-sensitive cocklet dangle low, an easy target for a man with perfect aim and a heavy, sharp silver belt buckle. Nutmeg screamed and nearly fell over, the sting on his poor little cock too much. Ever since Ataleia had worked on it, it was a bundle of nerves, and now the hit of the belt made pain sear across him. He could not manage to sob out the count, betrayed and insensible.</p>
<p>Kinbote's heavy form shadowed him. The lord was at his side, rubbing a hand through his hair and across his shaking shoulders, firm but implacable.</p>
<p>"There. I told you. It's a punishment. I'll give you a moment to count it, but the next time you don't, you'll lose that hit, Nutmeg. I told you the rules. Now you must keep to them."</p>
<p>"O-<i>one</i>," Nutmeg cried out brokenly, forcing himself back into position.</p>
<p>There was another whirring lash-sound, and then his cock was hit again, the pain excruciating. He again made a broken sound, but managed to form it into a word somehow.</p>
<p>"T-two!"</p>
<p>The third hit caught his little balls as well. These were not so sensitive as the soft, vulnerable skin of his cocklet, but the hit still hurt. Lord Kinbote was still rubbing his shoulders, and it was only by focusing on his steadying hand that Nutmeg managed to let out a pitiable, shrieking, "Three!"</p>
<p>The fourth broke the skin. This was a burning, overpowering pain, worse than any figging. Nutmeg's face was washed in ugly, heaving tears, and he was so, so pathetically grateful Kinbote was rubbing his back now, helping him keep still.</p>
<p>"Four," he gasped out, wishing he could close his legs. Instead he closed his eyes, let the alpha's touch gentle him, and received the fifth hit. He knew his blood must be splattering the carpet by now, but he still managed to say, brokenly, "Five. Th-that was five, alpha--"</p>
<p>"Good," Kinbote murmured, in his ear. "Lean into my touch. Like that. Very good."</p>
<p>The sixth hit striped off another bit of flesh. Nutmeg wailed in pain, but the alpha's close scent was helping take the edge off. Lord Kinbote still smelled so approving of him, as he had this morning. This made it easy to blink his eyes open and say, "S-six, thank you, alpha--"</p>
<p>"<i>Good</i>," Kinbote said. He let his hand dip down and gently squeeze one brown arsecheek, and Nutmeg let out a shuddering breath. Kinbote pressed a gentle kiss to his ear.</p>
<p>The seventh hit was no better than any of the others. But now he leaned into the pain, feeling it dominate him, not trying to get away from it, not any more than he tried to flinch away from his alpha's touch. His own sobs sounded wild and barely human to his ears, but the burning touch of his alpha's lips reminded him that he was human. Human enough to be hurt, but human enough to be kissed, too.</p>
<p>"Seven," Nutmeg said hoarsely. "That was seven."</p>
<p>The eighth hit his sore, tortured cocklet so hard it flapped up and left a trail of blood on the lowest reaches of his belly.</p>
<p>"Eight!" Nutmeg spat out. Kinbote's hand massaged the blood in, the touch soft.</p>
<p>"Nine!" was similarly hard, and "Ten!" nearly made him fall over again. But after that Kinbote was kissing his hair again, saying, "Halfway through. Very good, Nutmeg. That's it. Do you feel your place?"</p>
<p>Nutmeg nodded between his tears.</p>
<p>"Y-yes, lord. Yes--" and then, when the stinging, overwhelming torture continued -- "Eleven!"</p>
<p>By the time he'd counted out twenty lashes, his cock was nothing but hurt. It was bloody, raw, and hideous. He lowered himself into the trails of blood on the carpet and cried and cried, as his alpha petted him.</p>
<p>"It's alright, Nutmeg," Kinbote said evenly. "It's over. You did a fine job with that punishment. You've been the omega you should be. I'll have 'Leia treat the wounds and leave you good as new, with no pain--"</p>
<p>"Thank you, alpha," Nutmeg said, around his wrenching sobs. "Thank you."</p>
<p>Kinbote's hands were calloused and firm and so warm, and it was so strange to enjoy them, to like the kind way he was being touched. He felt confused and cracked-open, as if his alpha was hollowing him out to replace him with something better. He barely noted it when Tellusin's footsteps sounded and the sigma exited the room with the gentle click of the door.</p>
<p>"You really have been excellent this morning, omega. I'll have your throne treatment go more gently today,” Kinbote said. </p>
<p>He still smelled so approving. That approval was so warm, and rich, and good. It even made the bloody mess of Nutmeg’s cock bearable. Nutmeg couldn’t understand it. His cunt was going so wet, and his chest felt full with some intense emotion he had no name for. </p>
<p>But Kinbote continued, unaware of the effect he was having on his little bitch. </p>
<p>“And you may have twenty minutes with your mother beforehand. I just wish I understood—“</p>
<p>Kinbote sighed. </p>
<p>“—what’s making you <i>so</i> well-behaved and accepting today, but I'm glad something has. Now I must go--"</p>
<p>"No! Please, alpha. I wanted to ask you something," Nutmeg squeaked.</p>
<p>He was still shaking. Still overcome, like more had been flayed than his sad little cocklet. But he forced himself to come to some kind of order. He had to ask, had to beg that Kinbote claim Twig. Twig would be treated even better than Nutmeg by this alpha, Nutmeg was sure of that. Twig was so much more obedient and good than Nutmeg, and Kinbote would see it at once, as Gervaise had. And Nutmeg needed his family together, and had promised his mam he would try to rescue Twig, and right now it was all he could do to lift up his weary head and look Kinbote in the eye, but he still had to ask.</p>
<p>"Alpha, in -- in the omega quarters. This thing has family--"</p>
<p>"The omega quarters?" Kinbote cut in. His voice sounded odd. Cold, all of a sudden. His face — some horrible darkness clouded it. </p>
<p>And the approval dropped from his scent. Stark. Furious. It was like being hit again. Nutmeg flinched, confused and frightened. </p>
<p>Kinbote snarled, "Why should you speak to me of that place? Don't speak to me of that place."</p>
<p>"N-no, alpha," Nutmeg begged. "You don't understand--"</p>
<p>But Kinbote had risen and left him, striding away quickly.</p>
<p>"I don't have time to listen to this. And I've no desire to hear of the omega quarters! It -- I'll have nothing to <i>do</i> with a place like that. I am your <i>alpha</i>. Scawmin! Scawmin, come at once!"</p>
<p>And then, bizarrely, he was slamming the door behind him, and Nutmeg was left alone: puzzled, scared, and bleeding into the carpet.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Kinbote’s freakout will be explained! In case you can’t guess the cause already.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Brothers</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Nutmeg was shaking and heartsore, and in too much pain to get on all fours properly after his punishment. So, after a few long moments, Scawmin picked him up with a sigh.</p><p>"You won't force this thing to crawl, honorable?" Nutmeg rasped out.</p><p>"No," Scawmin said, short about it. "No point! And how would we force you? Can't hurt you 'cept on his Lordship's orders, can we? And he doesn't want to hurt you."</p><p>Why. </p><p>
  <i>Why?</i>
</p><p>The kindness that had seemed so clear to Nutmeg earlier in the morning was now a stupefying, unreal tangle. Kinbote could be kind, could be gentle, could be <i>good</i>, but Kinbote also turned on a dime. Stalked away when Nutmeg was broken and begging beneath him, desperate for the alpha's attention.</p><p>"He doesn’t care if I'm hurt!" Nutmeg forced out now, for that abandonment had stung. Stung in a deeper, more vulnerable place than any whipping, figging, or fucking. </p><p>He had smelled fear, disgust, fury, and rejection in the alpha's tone. All because he had mentioned the omega quarters. </p><p>Why?</p><p>But now Scawmin, carrying Nutmeg along the wide, marble-tiled hallway, paused. He shifted the omega in his arms until he could look Nutmeg in the eyes. His hard, thin mouth was displeased.</p><p>"<i>Don't</i> talk about our alpha that way," the psi said firmly. "You daft little <i>cunt</i>. Lord Kinbote is kinder than the likes of you can expect! Says you want to visit your mother when 'Leia's done fixing you up. Says to take you to see your little fellows down in the omega hall--"</p><p>"What?" Nutmeg said. "When did he say that?"</p><p>"Just now, stupid, as he left,” said Scawmin, rolling his pale eyes. "Daft cunt, you are. And he wouldn't want you hurt by crawling, so I'm to carry you! And why do you think he won't put you in the cage anymore. Hm?"</p><p>"This thing doesn't know," Nutmeg admitted, once more uncertain of where he stood with Lord Kinbote.</p><p>Scawmin flicked one of his tits. It didn't hurt. It just made the briefest divot in the soft flesh, a divot that faded right away and left Nutmeg blinking in confusion.</p><p>"Tits won't fit! You'd be miserable, them bars cutting into you, body sweating from pain and cramps. Aye, so you're to be allowed to stay in bed with his lordship, even in the mornings. And you're not grateful an alpha lets you stay in his alpha bed?"</p><p>Nutmeg sniffled. No. He had never been grateful for that, particularly. But perhaps he ought to have been.</p><p>"This thing is grateful, honorable. I am. But it's just that he's so--"</p><p>Bizarre. Puzzling. Each time Nutmeg thought he understood Kinbote, the big alpha revealed a new side to himself. And Nutmeg couldn't shake the feeling that there were pieces to Kinbote that even now remained secret, buried so deep even briefly sharing a mind with the man hadn't brought them to the forefront.</p><p>"This thing can't understand him," he admitted helplessly.</p><p>Scawmin snorted, shifting Nutmeg again to carry him better. He started down the hall again toward the theta's examination room.</p><p>"Aye, and why should you? Does a pig understand its farmer? Does a hound understand the hunter? Imagine! <i>You</i> understanding one so great as Lord Kinbote!"</p><p>And that seemed to be that. After a few moments, the now-disgusted Scawmin kicked open the door to Ataleia's chamber, surprising the physician, who was at her desk. When she said, "Put him on the table, Scawmin," the psi grunted. He dumped Nutmeg on the cold metal like he was glad to be free of him, and turned away.</p><p>But then he turned back again. </p><p>A great offended intensity had come over his broad, pale face. The psi held up one big hand.</p><p>"Lord Kinbote is a good man! A good alpha! You don't know the luck you have, daft little cunt! His Lordship <i>never</i> wants even your kind to suffer. Why, weren't he kind to the first one, to Clasp? Never wanted to hurt Clasp. Lord Kinbote isn't like the others, cunt, he doesn't like the taste of your pain!"</p><p>Nutmeg stared at the psi, unsure how to take this outburst.</p><p>"C-clasp?"</p><p>He knew that name. It was an omega name, sure enough. Clasp -- he thought Clasp might have been Bonbon's mother. Dead, now. Their kind didn't often live to thirty, and Clasp would have been well past that age today.</p><p>"He--how did my alpha know Clasp?" Nutmeg asked. </p><p>It was Ataleia who answered.</p><p>"Clasp was Lord Kinbote's original staff omega," she said, rising and stepping towards the table, pulling on her examination gloves. </p><p>"Lord Kinbote claimed someone else?" Nutmeg said, stupefied.</p><p>Ataleia's turn to snort.</p><p>"Of course not! What a notion!" she said. </p><p>"Didn't claim him," Scawmin said now, tone mulish. "Clasp were just the omega he took as part of his retinue. Was his due to go to war with one of every caste, as he's an alpha, and Clasp was the omega he picked. But he was ten, wasn't he? Had no wish to use Clasp that way. We did, the rest of us, and a good, giving fuck he was, loose cunt and all. But to his Lordship he was a little mother, fussing over him, drying his tears, holding him when he cried for fright. So his Lordship deigned to--to love him! <i>That's</i> the man he is, our Lord Kinbote. Not a hurting sort! He'd love even an animal if that animal treated him fair!"</p><p>The psi was fairly shaking with offense, but calmed when Ataleia put a hand on his broad shoulder.</p><p>"What Scawmin means to say," she said, "Is that your kind can serve Lord Kinbote just as devotedly as the rest of us. And we'd like to be fond of you, and to see you please him, care for him, as Clasp did. As he deserves to be cared for. Do you understand, omega?"</p><p>Nutmeg nodded helplessly. </p><p>The Kinbote they were describing was a Kinbote he hadn't met yet. Possibly a Kinbote he would never meet, a lonely child that had needed an <i>omega</i> to mother him. But he seemed a more reasonable Kinbote than any Nutmeg actually had met, save perhaps the Kinbote that had been so despairing, last night, over losing his brother.</p><p>That was when Kinbote had been easiest to understand. Nutmeg, too, knew what it was to despair over a brother. Twig. Who, apparently, Kinbote would permit him to visit. </p><p>He looked at Scawmin and Ataleia.</p><p>"This thing is lucky he claimed me," he said, despite the horrible coldness in Kinbote's tone earlier, despite the ruin of his own cocklet and the terrible pinwheel of emotions Kinbote seemed to force on him every day.</p><p>"This thing is so lucky," Nutmeg said, not sure he believed it, but willing to say it, to consider it, if only to buy himself the space to survive until he could understand things better. “This thing can see that, Honorables. This thing apologizes. This thing will try to be devoted. This thing swears it."</p><p>-</p><p>After Ataleia dropped him into sleep and healed his cock, and he was bathed and fed again, he was given clothes.</p><p>Or perhaps not clothes. The contraption of white lace and white silken straps Tellusin produced with a cackle was nothing like the pretty robe Larkin had given Nutmeg. This was closer to the links and chains Nutmeg had worn in shows. Tellusin took him into the mirrored corner and showed him how to shrug into it, so that the straps hooked into his collar and wound around his tits, making them strain against tight scraps of silky, see-through lace. More straps wound about his cocklet, which was likewise tucked into a little lace pouch. The remaining straps curved over his hips a few times and then ran snug down the center of his slit, only to be tied in a big bow, like a little tail on his arse, and then to hook back up to his collar from behind. </p><p>He felt like a present. Or a knot. </p><p>But Tellusin was pleased. </p><p>"We're taking you about the keep and we want you to look pretty!" the old sigma said, rubbing his hands together eagerly. "Comb your hair out, now, Nutmeg-cunt, and braid it neatly! I've some scent for you to make you stink less of omega, and a stick of kohl to line those pretty eyes!" </p><p>He strode away, presumably to get that, and Nutmeg was left wondering at the bitch in the mirror. He was not wearing very much at all, but he felt stuffed into the lace nevertheless. His pale brown skin looked very deep and pretty against the white, but somehow he seemed even more a whore like this than when he wore nothing at all.</p><p>Before they took him about the keep and down to the omega quarters, as promised, he was given a few minutes with Wisp. It was strange to be with his mother when he was perfumed and painted and in silk and lace. Wisp was supposed to be lovely and desirable, but he was just in a clean blue shift, beneath a warm coverlet, as if he were a person. Nutmeg was glad at this. But he couldn't square it with his own treatment: whipped, modified, swaddled in fine rags so his brown tits would poke through lace and two ropes of silk would rub into his cunt. </p><p>The same man, Kinbote, had willed both these things. Wisp's salvation, and Nutmeg's transformation into a real, bone fide alpha's whore. Nutmeg pressed a kiss to his mother's head and asked, into the golden hair, "Why, mam?"</p><p>But Wisp had no answer. Nutmeg hadn't thought he would. When his time with his mother had passed and Tellusin came to get him again, he gave Wisp another kiss and crawled out to hall, eager to be shown the way to the omega quarters.</p><p>His family, at least, were easy to understand. Easy to know. </p><p>Tellusin stilled him before they left the paneled hallways of Kinbote's wing. He was holding a package wrapped rather like the package of whore tools Scawmin had brought one day ago.</p><p>"One little addition, Nutmeg-cunt! One little addition!" he said, with glee written on his tattooed face. "Or two. Actually two. Spread your legs, my pretty. The zetas have worked a brilliant commission for his Lordship, to give you a bit of rest from the throne.”</p><p>This wasn’t bad news, but Nutmeg knew better than to think it was good. He spread his legs and swallowed hard, staring down at the painted floor tiles. </p><p>Tellusin lifted aside the silken ropes cutting into Nutmeg’s slit, pressed something cold, slimy, and <i>wriggly</i> to his folds. </p><p>On instinct, Nutmeg tried to jerk away. But it was no use. The sliming mass — like a freezing snake — squelched into his body with a slurping noise. It wriggled and squirmed into him, making him shriek and squirm in turn. It was so cold and horribly dragging inside him, sticky and insistent, pulsing as it burrowed into his cunt. He cried out, horrified, and thrashed to try and force it out. </p><p>Tellusin gentled him with a hand. </p><p>“Easy! Easy, Nutmeg-cunt. Let me get that little arsehole—“</p><p>“No, please—“ Nutmeg begged, but it was no use. Tellusin had him, and was pulling aside his "clothes" again. A second wriggling sort of fuck-worm latched onto his bottom and slurped its way in past his back rim, stretching him with cold sliminess. He cried out as the worms moved in tandem, crawling around his guts and cunt both, wriggling against his sore walls.</p><p>“Settle!” said Tellusin, bringing his crop down against Nutmeg’s feet. </p><p>It took every ounce of will Nutmeg had to do so. He moaned brokenly, feeling his holes stretch around the worms. </p><p>“That’s no way to react to your pets,” Tellusin said firmly, looking down at him with a disappointed expression. “Those are mercury slugs, cuntling! Not made of mercury, actually, just enchanted metal, but they’re the finest new training tool they have in Skoll these days for your kind! They’ll nip and start to bite if you forget to squeeze ‘em, but not hard. Just enough to remind you to work your holes nice and tight, and unlike the throne, you can wear ‘em around town! You’ll come to love your little pets soon enough. They'll be your little partners, reminding you of your place. Crawl, now! Come on! This way!”</p><p>Head hanging low, face burning with discomfort and humiliation, Nutmeg crawled. But it was hard to shake his hips as Tellusin liked, with the mercury slugs squirming so fat and cold inside him. They <i>did</i> nip if he went more than a minute without squeezing them, and it was a hard enough nip that he cried out each time. </p><p>“None of that, none of that!” said Tellusin, hurrying him along with small lashes of the crop. “This way! Come now!”</p><p>It took about twenty minutes to go from the alphas’ wing to the shabby garishness of the omega theatre. Nutmeg had made the journey in reverse once with Warekin and Brindle, and been aware enough that some of the landmarks — a huge red-haired statue here, a courtyard with a fountain there — did seem familiar. But he couldn’t process more than that. It took effort to crawl and keep his muscles clenching, and not vomit from the feel of the slimy, wriggling things in his body. His sensitive cunt-tunnel was rubbed raw and sticky, his arse no better. And every movement made the slugs flip and slither and crawl about even more in him. Violating him down to his core. </p><p>His face was tear-streaked by the time they made it to the door of the theater. As was normal, a pair of sigmas like Tellusin was posted at the door. </p><p>Less normal was their reaction when their tattooed caste-brother swaggered up to them, just behind a crying little whore struggling to show the grace Tellusin demanded of him. </p><p>“Cousins,” Tellusin said with a grin, pausing Nutmeg with a tap of his boot to the omega’s waving bottom. </p><p>The sigmas’ mouths dropped open. The one on the left gave a swift, hurried bow; the one on the right was only a bit delayed in echoing the one on the left. </p><p>“C-cousin! You — can it be? Are you Tellusin-kin’s-servitor, our honored castmate what serves Lord Kinbote?” stammered out the first guard, eyes darting up to Tellusin with reverence. </p><p>Tellusin took this in stride. The tattooed wolves on his cheeks danced as he spoke. </p><p>“Aye, unless you know another Tellusin so painted up with soldier’s tats he’s a mockery of the art!” the sigma chortled. “That’s me! So this is where they keep the omegas now, isn’t it? Bit different than it was in my day, what when Havis had their charge—“</p><p>“Oh, no, lord, they moved from Havis’ tower some fifteen or sixteen years ago,” said the second guard now, very quickly. “When Master Gervaise was given the master’s post, and asked for new lodgings more suited to his vision—“</p><p>Tellusin scratched his chin with a hand. </p><p>“Vision? For omegas? Seems to me their use is simple. See this one I’m fixing for my alpha lord—“</p><p>Here he smacked Nutmeg’s rump, making the worms burrow deep. Nutmeg grunted in pain and private embarrassment, hating their cold, sticky drag against his walls. </p><p>“—Lord Kinbote is so pleased with the <i>vision</i> that he’s granted the sweet little bitch a visit to his people!”</p><p>But now the first guard was squinting down, mouth dropping open. </p><p>“Is that—“ he began. </p><p>“—Nutmeg?” the second guard finished. </p><p>“He’s got a nice pair of tits!”</p><p>“Aye, and that fatness to his rump!”</p><p>“His hair’s not a tangle, for once!”</p><p>“Can see his eyes!”</p><p>“He’s nearly pretty!”</p><p>“And he smells less like dirty o-cunt!”</p><p>Nutmeg flushed, humiliated by their leering faces, their cruel words. But Tellusin just gave another pleased slap to his arse, laughing mightily. </p><p>“And we’re not even done! By the time this little country bitch is fully trained, he’ll rival the higher castes for appeal! Mark my words, or I’m not Tellusin! But where is the omega master? Tell him we’re here, so he can bring out the other bitches to see what a lovely little slut old Tellusin has made of their brother.”</p><p>Now Nutmeg cringed outright. </p><p>This was all wrong. This wasn’t how he wanted to see his family again. But Tellusin didn’t notice his hesitation, for now the sigma guards, trading looks between them, leaned forward and pitched their voices low. </p><p>"You won't want to alert him, honored servitor--"</p><p>"Not pleased since he lost at the trial!"</p><p>"Aye, he's been drinking and raging and hitting them something awful, and collapsing drunk in his office with them little pictures of boys fucked by dogs he likes so--"</p><p>"Which is nothing to say of the way he treats <i>us</i>!"</p><p>"Rude, he's been! Right horrible, servitor! O'course, he never has let us really train them or enjoy them, not like Havis would--"</p><p>"In Havis' day, you could give 'em treats, make 'em nice and fat and in love with you, and fuck 'em until they cried with happiness! Nice little pets they made then, not so skinny and sniveling as this lot--"</p><p>"Gervaise sees profit for the keep in 'em, and for himself! Not a sort of <i>family</i> operation like it used to be!"</p><p>Tellusin's eyebrows rose and rose at this, making the moons and suns on his forehead crinkle. He bit a nail thoughtfully.</p><p>"Really? Hm. Well. That's as good to know. I've been assuming this one would be -- be differently reared than the ones we get in Skoll. Would need to be trained proper, not coddled. But perhaps this Gervaise is operating more like the mills and brothels. Would explain a few things about the Nutmeg-cunt here--"</p><p>Nutmeg, who was still mostly focused on the nasty slurp and stretch of the slugs in his holes, looked up at this, confused. But Tellusin paid him no mind.</p><p>"--say, cousins. Why don't you go and fetch the boy's fellows, then? I've orders to let him see his kin, and orders from our alpha trump orders from any delta, aye?"</p><p>This seemed to accord with the sigmas' view of the world. They exchanged another glance, then nodded as one, looking even a bit pleased to be assisting a brother in service to Lord Kinbote. They bade Tellusin to bring Nutmeg through to the omega courtyard, however, as it would be easier to gather Gervaise's charges there. Tellusin smacked Nutmeg gently to get him moving into the theatre. Nutmeg spent the crawl down the central aisle miserable, whimpering at the mercury slugs' continued torment. </p><p>But when he was brought out into the shabby stone courtyard, such a wave of <i>home</i> hit him that he felt somehow better.</p><p>Still uncomfortable and humiliated. But there was Patch at the wall, resting between cocks, and there was Pocket, still heavy with get, washing little Gem and Sleeve by the big tub. One of the sigmas was bringing out Bonbon and Dainty, who by their flushed faces and glistening cunts had evidently been serving customers. These were his people, all of them, and Nutmeg gave a cry of wild, unbridled joy to see their faces.</p><p>"Nut!" Bonbon was the first to shout. "Our Nut!"</p><p>They ran to him. Nutmeg was surprised by how pale, lash-striped, and bruised-up they all were. It ought to have been familiar to him, but a week spent among the healthier, more vigorous upper castes left him mourning the state of his own. He embraced Patch's thin shoulders and pressed kisses to little, skinny Gem, and when Keyhole came running out he held that boy close as well, kissing away his happy tears.</p><p>"Nut! You're alive!" Keyhole cried. </p><p>So did many of the others. Bonbon seemed to refuse to let go of Nutmeg, tugging him in and hugging him fiercely even as Nutmeg accepted happy kisses from rest. Dainty was smiling broadly, and so was Pocket. And their smell -- that warm, intimate smell of family! Nutmeg shifted, on his knees in the middle of the courtyard, and suddenly felt lighter than he had in weeks. Even the curling, sticky little slugs inside him didn't seem so terrible. He could bear them. He had borne worse, with these people to help and love him.</p><p>"Nut," Dainty said quietly. "You--your scent--"</p><p>"Aye, this thing is perfumed," Nutmeg admitted, wiping at the happy tears in his eyes.</p><p>"No," Dainty said. "Your scent's <i>complete</i>."</p><p>The others, amazingly, nodded. </p><p>After the initial burst of joy and homecoming, they settled themselves into a kneeling circle on the flagstones by the cocksucking wall, close enough for each omega to touch at least three others. Tellusin watched indulgently from afar, but seemed more concerned with talking to the sigmas. Each of the omegas, however, was absolutely focused on Nutmeg. Bonbon took a deep sniff of the air.</p><p>"Claimed," he whispered. "Aye? So the rumors are true, then? You're claimed by Lord Kinbote, and your mam alive?"</p><p>Many of the others looked shocked by this, as if they hadn't heard any rumors themselves. But then, Bonbon was often called to serve the highest of their customers, being so pretty and charming, and thus was the likeliest to receive such news. When Nutmeg nodded, suddenly feeling quite overwhelmed and shy at the beautiful omega's intent tone, he saw more surprise still animate the faces around them.</p><p>"That's why you look so pretty," Gem mumbled, putting his little dark head on Nutmeg's thigh and sighing.</p><p>"Is he kind to you?" whispered small Sleeve. "Is that why you're done up so fine?"</p><p>"With such a chest," murmured Patch, eyes wide. "How? Did it hurt, our Nut?"</p><p>"And your mam," Pocket insisted. "How is our Wisp? Where is he?"</p><p>Nutmeg squirmed, and it wasn't just because he had to shift a bit to clench on the hideous slugs in his bowels. He could find no way to explain Kinbote to himself, so trying to explain the events of the past week to the others suddenly seemed impossible. Some of them, particularly the children, seemed eager to think that he was well. He could not bear the thought of disappointing them. Their hope shone in their eyes, miraculous, fragile as a soap bubble. He didn't wish to crush that, or make them worry for him; and the ones who would worry for him -- like Bonbon -- would do so whether he confirmed their worst fears or not.</p><p>"Mam is resting," he said, looking down at his hands and focusing on the good. "Mam is recovering. A good long sleep he's been placed into. Needed it, for he lost the babe--"</p><p>Keyhole made a mournful sound, and Pocket, his mother, began to pet and soothe him despite the wide fear in his own eyes at this fact. </p><p>Nutmeg hurriedly continued. "But such a pretty room as he has, in my alpha's quarters! Beneath a warm window, with warm blankets, and a real theta physician to look on him. And Lord Kinbote cares for him, or seems to--"</p><p>He caught sight of Bonbon and stopped. The eldest omega present, at a ripe and hale nineteen, Bonbon looked far, far less surprised than some of the others. In fact, Bonbon looked oddly caught out, and while there were notes of relief in his milk-sweet smell, it was also as if he were wrestling with -- with some odd upset.</p><p>"Bon?" Nutmeg asked, blinking with confusion. "What is it?"</p><p>The strange expression fled Bonbon's pretty face at once. His scent tripled in sweet acceptance, as if he were masking it.</p><p>"Nothing, our Nut. Great Lord Kinbote come home at last! Aye, it's a fine thing. He is inclined to look well on our kind. So they all said when I was small--"</p><p>Clasp. This was Clasp’s child. Bonbon was therefore in some small way connected to Kinbote. </p><p>Nutmeg stared at his beautiful friend with wide eyes. Bonbon was jealous. Had to be jealous. It was Nutmeg who'd been claimed by the fine alpha, brown, plain Nutmeg, while the gorgeous child of Kinbote's loyal staff omega--</p><p>Bonbon looked stricken, catching wind of his thoughts in his scent. The others, too, caught it. They began to shift uncomfortably, and little Gem whined, bothered by the hint of discord between his mother and Nutmeg. </p><p>"<i>No</i>, Nut," Bonbon said, looking crushed. "You must not feel such threat! Not from this poor thing. Happy for you, this thing is, I do swear it. Only, have wished for some time now that Lord Kinbote might -- might do more for all of us, aye? Was always a friend to our caste, he was--"</p><p>Young Patch voiced the exact same question Nutmeg had: "He <i>was</i>?"</p><p>"--so your man has always said," Bonbon finished hurriedly. "This thing is too young to -- to have ever truly known Lord Kinbote. Aye? But if he can do kindness to our Nutmeg now, that is a good thing. A fine lordly alpha has every right to do whatever good he pleases, and no more--"</p><p>Nutmeg flinched. Bonbon was right. That was the trouble. Kinbote owed nothing to these people. Nutmeg did, and even Nutmeg had done his omega brethren ill, by not thinking once of helping <i>them</i>. Only helping Twig, who Kinbote likewise owed nothing to, and--</p><p>"Where is Twig?" he cried out, suddenly realizing his brother was nowhere to be found. He twisted to look over his shoulder at the sigmas, as if they could be hiding his younger brother, but they were all clustered around Tellusin in worshipful respect. And now he could detect a sadder, more careful, more ashamed note to the omegas around him, a hint of ash to the delicate warmth of their normal scents.</p><p>He stared around at them. None of them was looking at him now. And he picked out, now, a scent that was a bit further off, and far more hurting. Twig's.</p><p>"Where is Twig?" he demanded again, growing wilder now. It was bad. It was bad, if they all smelled like this, of defeat and guilt and dawning horror. "Tell me! Tell me right now!"</p><p>He grasped for Twig's pathetic, pained scent, lurching in the direction of it. Dainty and Patch moved aside hastily to make room, as Nutmeg half-fell against the keep wall. The slugs in his holes were wriggling and delivering harsh, painful little nips now, but he ignored the sting, blinking, and put his eye to the cock hole.</p><p>Twig had been put in the field stockade. His hips, legs, and face were bruised, and his hair horribly tangled and sodden. That was why his scent was faint. Piss. He'd been pissed on. And beaten. And there was crusted blood around his mouth, and down his inner thighs. </p><p>Nutmeg was crying out even before he realized he was doing it.</p><p>-</p><p>The worst thing was that, later, he wasn't even beaten.</p><p>The others would be. He knew that. For <i>his</i> momentary lapse, his unhinged shrieks of grief, they would be hit and tormented, blamed, told they should have kept him in his place. Omegas who <i>seemed</i> culpable were often treated as though they <i>were</i> culpable, and for the others to have been so close to him when he became inconsolable and stupid for a moment, begging Tellusin to save his brother --</p><p>They would share his blame. And they were not the perfumed, prettified personal sluts of an alpha. They would face much, much harsher punishment than he did. </p><p>Nutmeg was only spanked a bit by a thoroughly befuddled Tellusin, who carried him back to Kinbote's rooms and kept saying, "None of that! None of that! Why, you <i>are</i> as mad as a brothel bitch! What rum luck! We’ve been training you wrong, I reckon!”</p><p>By the time Tellusin had painted his arse red, Nutmeg had calmed, and was softly crying.</p><p>Tellusin manhandled him into a sitting position on his lap. His face-wolves were stiff and stern.</p><p>"I'll have to tell his Lordship, Nutmeg-cunt. What a reaction! I can't think he thought it would make you so insane just to see your fellows, or he would not have allowed it--"</p><p>Nutmeg covered his face with his hands, trying to curl in on himself. He couldn't understand why Kinbote had allowed it, why Kinbote had decided Nutmeg needed to see the other omegas. But he also couldn't be upset that he'd seen them.</p><p>His family. His poor, mistreated family; and his poor, mistreated brother.</p><p>Tellusin seemed unsure of how to handle him other than a spanking. Like Scawmin, he appeared leery of really hurting Nutmeg without Kinbote's say-so, and so he left Nutmeg with dark mutterings of how Kinbote would hear of the omega's unseemly tantrum.</p><p>Today, he was made to titfuck the omega throne, bending over it and rubbing his sore breasts on it, suckling the tip. It released a refreshing, bright syrup when he sucked well, and knotted his mouth painfully when he didn't. On any other day this would have been a welcome change from actually riding the horrible rubbery cock -- Tellusin had not even left the slugs in him, but had blessedly removed them before his spanking -- but today Nutmeg could hardly focus, and his throat was knotted some four or five times, leaving him choking, with tears in his eyes, until he should remember to suck as required.</p><p>He couldn't remember, though. He was thinking of his brother. </p><p>Twig's ribs had been ghastly, outlined in his skinny little chest. Nutmeg knew even he had never been that starved. Nor, he was certain, had he ever been that bruised and hurt. Flies had buzzed around Twig's inert body, motionless in a crowd of jeering psis. Twig had looked -- he had looked <i>dead</i>.</p><p>He hadn't been. He still had that faint scent. </p><p>But a horrible thought had occurred to Nutmeg.</p><p><i> I forbid the deliberate killing of any omega,</i> Lord Kinbote had said, at the trial.</p><p>Deliberate. The deliberate killing. </p><p>But their deaths had never had to be deliberate. Oh, here or there, when one fell so sick even Lord Raskin found it pitiful, then the omega's throat was slit. Pocket’s mother, Titmouse, had gone like that. But more often omegas died by neglectful accident. They were simply hit too hard, or ignored when they needed medicine. They weakened from poor food, or too little rest.</p><p>It would be easy for Gervaise to have his death show. All he needed was a performer on the brink of death. The dogs -- they would likely do the rest.</p><p>In this position, Nutmeg was locked onto the base of the omega throne by his manacled ankles. These would release at moonrise, when sunlight no longer touched the apparatus.</p><p>But he had to get out sooner. He had to get his brother. He could not wait for moonrise, nor even for nightfall. Then Lord Kinbote would return, goddess-addled, and take Nutmeg as he always did. And his Lordship would not be sensible until midday tomorrow, and by then Twig's faint scent could be snuffed out entirely.</p><p>-</p><p>Kinbote did not, in the end, confess to Warekin.</p><p>He could not make himself do so. There was a hardness come upon Warekin during this visit. Possibly because he'd stuffed Warekin in a garderobe, yes. But it was more than that. His brother seemed to have taken the claiming of the omega as an intentional insult. Warekin, even while shouting praises to Kinbote's health, smelled strange and shut-off. <i>Cold</i>.</p><p>So Kinbote stood tall in the pew, and watched his priestly brother begin the last rites of devotion, and said nothing. What penance could Warekin issue him that would be worst than the flat, uninterested gleam in Warekin's eye when he looked over at Kinbote?</p><p>What penance, too, could be worse than his omega coming so, so close to the freakish truth Kinbote had done everything in his power to hide?</p><p>But no. No, he would not think of that. Instead he examined his hands -- scarred, like so much of the rest of him was -- and let Warekin's chants wash over him. It would be best to think of Warekin, perhaps. To think on why he could not confide in Warekin, as a brother.</p><p>They had never been the closest of brothers. It had been Uskind Warekin had hero-worshipped. They had both of them hero-worshipped Uskind for a time, just as Larkin, as a young boy, had once worshipped Kinbote. Still, he and Warekin had had a bond once. They had been united in a sort of reverence for their elder. And they had been close enough to make passing fine playmates -- Kinbote was four years the elder, yes, but he'd been such a wild and <i>wrong</i> thing when brought to Kinshasha, that for the four or so years she'd had charge of him, he had more or less assumed himself to be Warekin's equal in age.</p><p>It was only when Uskind had been called to the front, and had claimed his next-eldest brother as squire, as was the heir's right, that Kinbote had realized he outranked Warekin at all. </p><p>Perhaps Warekin had realized it then as well. By the time Kinshasha passed, a victim to the mass aavis fir poisoning the leopards had loosed over the wolflands one horrible summer, Kinbote had returned to find a brother who was thin-lipped and white with unbending grief, a grief that set his scent apart and made him seem still and alone. Kinshasha had often been accused of favoring Warekin, which was not uncommon when a mother actually bore her child. There was always a lingering rumor that she would feel the pull of her blood strongly. But if she had, Kinbote had never noticed it. To him, Kinshasha had been a good mother for four years, before dutifully packing him up and sending him off with Uskind. But to Warekin she had clearly been more.</p><p><i>I know what he is feeling,</i> Kinbote had told the Goddess rather stupidly, during the funereal devotions. <i>I can help him. I too lost, as he has lost.</i></p><p><i>I would not try to help that one,</i> the Goddess had said, short and plain, in between bouts of licking Her sacred rump.</p><p>And indeed, when he'd tried, Warekin had shrieked and lunged at him, screaming curses, crying out, "How dare you! How <i>dare</i> you be so profane? As to compare her to--"</p><p>Well.</p><p>It had been profane. And wrong. Raskin had beaten him soundly for it, and been right to, probably. That had formed a crucial lesson for Kinbote, that beating. And his shame after, for how he had added to the grief in his brother's eyes. And ever since then, perhaps, it had felt difficult to confide his moral lapses in Warekin.</p><p>Warekin knew the worst of him already.</p><p>So he said nothing. He slipped into the Goddess' realm quietly, as his brother chanted and the delta acolytes heaped the last bear corpse with reams of mushrooms. And it was Lupa he told, Lupa he confessed to--</p><p><i>I'm sorry,</i> the wolf-Goddess said now, in between snarling, hungry bites of what looked like a fresh rabbit kill. The blood on Her muzzle gleamed in the dappled sunlight of the clearing. <i>Is this really what you want to talk about? I swear, weirdling. You manage to miss the point every time. You may as well go on moping about your brother!</i></p><p>Kinbote, small and asinine, blinked up at Her.</p><p>What was he to say? He had broken Her fast. And already he had been punished, first by Nutmeg's callous mention of the omega quarters, then by this low mood come upon him over Warekin--</p><p><i>Oh my fucking humans,</i> Lupa grunted. <i>That's sadness, stupid arse! You are sad today. And of course you all blame it on me -- and, fine, all things are my will -- but, really, it is rather less my will than most things that you be such a tangled-up mess, Kinbote!</i></p><p>Kinbote felt his mouth drop open into a small, pathetic puppy-snarl. He could not help this. It was unfair of the Goddess to take responsibility and then not. To make him what She had made him, the aberration She had made him, and then to act surprised when he behaved oddly!</p><p>The Goddess' golden eyes narrowed.</p><p><i>Well. Fine. Fair point. But I have tried to help you many times, Kinbote, and you do not always seem to notice or listen. I gave you the strongest bond I have ever given an alpha yet, to</i> such<i> a fine little wild thing, with thoughts quite as tangled as yours! And yet you persist in feeling alone.</i></p><p>What? Did she mean Nutmeg? And the strange mind-link that had formed initially, that bizarre, terrifying moment when an omega could have known even his deepest secrets--</p><p>Lupa made a disgusted noise.</p><p><i>I could have given him to Larkin!</i> she barked. <i>You hear me? Larkin! That ninny, Larkin! I should have! Larkin would have appreciated him from the start, in his way! But noooooo. I had to craft everything around</i> you!</p><p>-</p><p>Later, after the Turning, he bounded through the keep, in search of the delicious scent.</p><p>Already Lupa's words were slipping from his mind, too big and holy for him to hold but in the merest of fragments. But he recalled, as he often did at this stage, her insistence on how she had gifted him his omega. His little bitch. No longer did the wolf need to chase the kitchen-smell of sausage links and meat pies. These days, he followed the much better scent of his Nutmeg's ripe, fertile o-cunt.</p><p>As it was the last day of devotions, the evening had given way to raucous celebration. The wolf passed parties of tau dancers with flowers in their hair, fiddling and laughing thetas, a makeshift stage with chis playing to a shrieking, mixed-caste huddle. Here and there the foolhardy and brave tried to press on him, kiss him, beg his indulgence. He snapped at them. The wild music, commotion, and crowds in the hallways and courtyards annoyed him. They seemed to make the good omega scent so faint today. </p><p>But no. He knew where his bitch would be. In his place. Kinbote's place. Waiting for Kinbote. Nutmeg belonged to him, and was always arranged somewhere among his other possessions.</p><p>Letting his tongue loll out, the wolf slowed to a peaceable trot, calmed by the thought. His bitch was always right where he should be. So Kinbote trotted happily up the great main stair, by the statue of Kinshasha, and turned to his rooms. He nosed through the heavy doors with an expectant whine, and let his tail wag as he loped to the bedroom, where the bitch-smell was usually strongest.</p><p>It wasn't. Strongest, that was. It was a bit stronger, yes. But there was no bitch. A horrible chemical perfume clouded the room, and made him sneeze. Then he noticed it. A sort of metal thing was carelessly lolling on the carpet, smelling distantly of that honey-milk and sweet cunt-slick. And there was a bright, intensely sweet smell smeared on the near wall. </p><p>Blood. His bitch's blood. Kinbote gave a low growl in his throat, ears pricking with panicked upset. Where was his bitch? He nosed at the blood, following where it led.</p><p>Down the hall, back the way he'd come. He was -- he was wolf-stupid, to not have noticed. It was the chemical scent, which had mingled with his bitch's scent and thrown him off. But now he could pick out the better, sweeter smell beneath, the Nutmeg-spice he loved. He put his snout to the blood and followed the trail, the little drip-drip down the hall, through the doors, back to the stair. At Kinshasha's statue Nutmeg's scent-trail went left, he could see that now. Some fifteen yards, to the courtyard with the fountain. Then it loped confusingly down this hall and that, including some back halls which <i>could</i> not be right, for they were servants' halls. It came out somewhere on the battlements near the Southern field.</p><p>Here, the celebration was in full swing. Psis danced and banged drums, and sigmas fucked in the shadow of their usual posts, drenched with wine-smell and the perfume of rich, brandy-soaked fig pudding. Omicrons huffed blue mushroom -- the less sacred cousin to the lupine -- and giggled to themselves. A pretty upsilon boy with big, long-lashed eyes sobbed on all fours, praising the Goddess, as he was plowed from behind by a familiar, long-limbed figure.</p><p>Larkin. His familiar pack-smell nearly drowned out Nutmeg's, and Kinbote gave an annoyed huff. His brother was as Goddess-touched as he, eyes dilated and wide, grunting happily as he fucked his plump quarry. Kinbote loped past him, but it was just then that Larkin stilled and came, shouting loud enough to add to the wolf's annoyance.</p><p>Kinbote ignored that. Nutmeg. His Nutmeg. His Nutmeg had come this way, and here was the little blood-drip, down a narrow set of steps.</p><p>Too narrow for the enormous wolf. Now Kinbote gave a proper growl, for being foiled, and pushed his big bulk back into the crowd to get purchase. He would leap it. He would leap to the fields and find where, down in the earth-smell of grapevines and psi-sweat, his little bitch had gone.</p><p>But no sooner did he do so than someone screamed his name.</p><p>"Kinbote!" Larkin yelled wildly, from atop the keep. "Kinbote! Y'stolemy<i>pet</i>!"</p><p>The mushroom-high made him slur, and look very stupid. The wolf regarded his running, half-naked form rather coldly. He would continue to ignore Larkin. The Goddess had been clear: she could have given Nutmeg to Larkin, and she hadn't. She'd presented him instead to Kinbote. If Larkin wanted the bitch for himself, well, that was sad. But it wasn't Kinbote's problem.</p><p>He turned and trotted off, nose to the ground. Picked up -- yes! -- a faint hint! Here, in this drying blood-trail in the dirt. Here. He pressed his snout in and let it lead him, nostrils flaring, taking in as much as he could. Here. This way.</p><p>Only now Larkin seemed to have caught up with him. Even swamped by the ceremonial high, Larkin was an alpha: strong, large, and fairly well bruise-resistant. Whether he had stumbled down the steps or plummeted from the wall, either way, it hadn't hurt him. Only given him a rakish cut beneath one eye. He kicked off his pants, which were around his ankles, and lurched after the wolf, still muttering in that slow-fast-slow fashion brought on by the mushroom.</p><p>"Howcouldyou! Thought--thought we were friends, Kinbote, thought we were pack and youmy<i>brother</i>--"</p><p>Kinbote reached a sort of useless heap of straw, very wide and tall enough to nearly touch the top of the battlements. Here there was <i>a</i> smell, a sad, sweet one. But it was wrong. Stupefied, Kinbote stopped and began to growl again. How could his nose have led him <i>wrong</i>? Had he offended the Goddess, somehow?</p><p>But now Larkin caught up with him fully, and nearly fell into the straw, still mumbling.</p><p>"Wouldhave<i>shared</i>himwithyou--argh!"</p><p>Larkin had fallen onto something. The very sad thing, brown and small, curled-up, and all painted with horrific whip-marks and more blood, and also far worse fluids than blood.</p><p>"Wh--<i>Pet</i>?" Larkin cried out, horror bringing some sense back into his expression.</p><p>Kinbote gave a piercing, mournful howl in the negative.</p><p>No. No, this omega wasn't Nutmeg. Nutmeg was gone.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>No chapter update tomorrow because I have been assigned some complex work stuff, and will not have time to edit. 😞 please enjoy this extra-long chapter in the meantime! With the return of some secondary characters! Also pls don’t hate Bonbon for his momentary weirdness, because I personally love Bonbon very much and I promise there is a reason for it.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Rabbit Show</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Nutmeg had managed to swing the throne out of the way of the window.</p>
<p>It had been that simple. Kinbote's rooms were so paneled and dark that, once there was no direct sunlight, the manacles had clicked open. Nutmeg had gratefully pushed himself off the horrible contraption, coughing a bit, and crawled to the side as the dreadful apparatus folded in on itself.</p>
<p>Then he'd taken two great, steadying breaths.</p>
<p>Twig needed him. And if he could get Twig, somehow, and bring his brother here, he could beg Kinbote to help him. To keep Twig alive, as he had done with Wisp. </p>
<p>He would be horribly punished for this, he was certain. But it would be worth it.</p>
<p>But he had to reach Twig before nightfall, before Master Gervaise was certain to pull the omega back into the keep and force him into tonight's show. Gervaise tended to let his unfortunate charges languish in the stockade until early evening, at least, and that meant Nutmeg had some time. He wasn't sure how he would get Twig out of the stockade, nor even what he would do about the crowd of psis that had been tormenting Twig, but he would figure it out.</p>
<p>Before that, however, he needed to mask his scent better. Anyone would know him by his base scent: that sweet, sensual fog of omega drip. </p>
<p>Luckily, Tellusin had left the little flask of perfume he'd brought earlier. </p>
<p>Nutmeg crossed to Kinbote's enormous wardrobe. He pulled out a shirt -- a fine blue one, so soft it was like touching a dream. This he carried over to the little endtable with the perfume flask, and then he dumped the contents of the flask all over it.</p>
<p>It was so flowery it made him sneeze and made his eyes smart. But when he pulled the sodden garment over his head, even he couldn't really smell himself. This would mask him a bit. Hopefully most people would think he was a tau, and the taus would assume he was an upsilon or something. He went to the mirror to try and make the long shirt look less like what it was - the oversized leavings of his princely alpha.</p>
<p>If he pulled the silver collar over the blue-sky fabric, arranging it to hide his neck and eerily sharp collarbones, he seemed almost like a normal person. A proper member of the Gifted castes, dressed for a feast day. But it was so baggy on him. </p>
<p>The belt. Lord Kinbote's belt.</p>
<p>It was draped over the back of the desk chair. The heavy buckle, a stylized silver wolf, was still caked in his blood. Nutmeg brought it over to the mirror and wound it around his middle twice, drawing the tent-like silk shirt in. </p>
<p>Proper respectable, that was. Even with the smears of kohl about his eyes. He did not look like an o-cunt. He looked well-dressed. Like a person. </p>
<p>Save that he did not have shoes. Briefly, he mourned the beautiful slippers Prince Larkin had once given him. But Twig was more important. And many of the lower castes didn't wear shoes. </p>
<p>When he reached the door, two anxieties took hold of him.</p>
<p>The first was Zoree. She could be anywhere. Appear from anywhere. She could be watching him now, and be about to stop him from committing so great a rebellion as this.</p>
<p>But he couldn't do anything about that, could he? She had a Gift, and he did not. So that was that, really.</p>
<p>And the second anxiety he could solve. This was the fear of how he would get back with Twig. The keep was very large, and he did not know his way around. He had a vague sense of how to get to the omega quarters, but only a vague one. And just as vague a notion of how to get back.</p>
<p>Here the belt again helped. As an omega, he couldn't track well, like the highest castes could. But he could pick out <i>omega</i> scent. So he took the sharp belt buckle and slashed across the length of his forearm. His blood welled up, heavy and stinking of himself. It would not be enough to overcome the perfume, not for the noses of most castes, to which omega was the most negligible reek of all. But he would be able to pick it out, if he let it make a little drippy trail. He would be able to follow it back here once he had Twig.</p>
<p>Then, with a deep, shuddering breath, he stepped out into the hall.</p>
<p>He was proud when he made it to the red-haired statue at the base of the stairs. He left little tracks of blood-drops along the base -- perhaps that was why this beautiful stone woman looked so displeased. And then, then he knew to turn and find the courtyard with the fountain. </p>
<p>It was full of people. That nearly paralyzed him. People singing, and dancing, and eating great platters of steaming meat-buns, which smelled so incredible his stomach flopped. He was nearly too afraid to cross the crowd, for it was mostly much higher castes than his own: thetas, zetas, epsilons. But none of them paid him any notice as he wound through their flailing, celebratory limbs. One epsilon shoved a plate at him, mistaking him for a servant. Nutmeg took it white-faced, not daring to stop moving, and fled to the doorways on the other side. Which one? Which one? His head was so full of panic he could not remember. But no, it had to be this little one here, the one with the wooden knob. He fled through it, still clutching the plate and bleeding down his forearm, breathing hard as he barreled into the hallway beyond.</p>
<p>It did not prove to be the doorway with the wooden knob.</p>
<p>He became hopelessly lost. He was quite sure he had never been to this part of the keep before, this winding warren. At first he clutched the plate like it would guide him, talisman-like, and then, realizing how stupid this was, he shoved it into a potted plant. He tried different doors and padded through many storage rooms, sometimes stumbling on more wild celebrations, and each time the press of higher castes frightened him so that he would run into another back hallway, ready to cry. </p>
<p>Twig needed him, but he was lost.</p>
<p>By the time he found his way to the battlements, he was sniffling. Here, the afternoon sun was so bright he had to squint, and the party raged louder than ever. At the very least, he did not look so out of place here, for save a few giggling omicrons and some sigmas who were kissing by the wall, it was all taus and psis and upsilons. A pretty, fat upsilon boy sneered at him, as if he were trying to figure out what Nutmeg was, but Nutmeg refused to be frightened away.</p>
<p>He could see clear across the fields from here. Clear to the far keep wall, the familiar, shabby stone structure, and the wooden stockade in front of it, with no guard, only a small gathering of psis clustering about a tiny brown figure locked into place.</p>
<p>Twig. </p>
<p>Nutmeg began to run, searching for a way to get closer. He wound through taus clanging cymbals and chis wailing out lecherous songs. A little ways down the length of the battlements, he found a narrow, crumbling access stair. He threw himself down it, full of relief. The cracked stones cut his bare feet, but he didn't care. He could approach Twig from <i>without</i> the keep, and it would be better to do so, surely. Better to approach like a free creature, and not an omega. He ran as fast as he could once he reached the hard, packed earth of the field, past a great heap of hay, ran and ran, and--</p>
<p>And slowed, as he approached his brother.</p>
<p>He still had no idea what to say to the psis.</p>
<p>They were only psis. Only the lowest caste, save omegas. The workers of earth, tenders of pigs. They were not something anyone who wasn't an omega feared, and yet Nutmeg did fear them, for he could see how brawny, tough, and strong they were. The champions of endurance. The steady, slow, enormous underclass.</p>
<p>There were four. Three men and a woman. They smelled of cheap wine, and sang as they slapped Twig's face, fucked into his bloody, gaping holes. Twig's smell was even fainter than before. He appeared to have passed out. Nutmeg had to wipe away his own tears in earnest now, at the sight.</p>
<p>Then he stepped forward.</p>
<p>"Hon--"</p>
<p>No. No, to call them that would give it away. Nutmeg steeled his shoulders.</p>
<p>He began to sing. </p>
<p>It was what his caste did in times of trouble. It had never steered them wrong. And now, now the words seemed to come to him. There was something familiar about this moment, though it was hardly like he'd ever stood in this place, worn these clothes, smelled this way. But even so. The deep, gorgeous blue of Kinbote's fine shirt, and the gleaming silver of the collar and belt buckle. The bright sun above, warming Nutmeg's face. His braid had come undone while he'd been running, and when the psis turned to stare at him he was shaking out his hair, but he did not stop singing.</p>
<p>"<i>Oh psis, my psis, the humble caste;<br/>the sons of earth and work;<br/>attend to me on this feast-day, psis!<br/>I'll take you for a lark!</i>"</p>
<p>The rhyme wasn't so neat as anything Gervaise could come up with. But the melody was better. A sweet, happy, near-taunting melody that came to him. A tease. Nutmeg looked out at the psis' pale, admiring eyes, their open mouths, and felt exhilarated. He ran a few fingers through his long hair. It would be shining. The color was drab, but Tellusin had told him a few times -- <i>How pretty that mane looks when you clean and brush it out, little Nutmeg-cunt! It's a credit to you!</i></p>
<p>So he brushed it out carefully with his fingers, smiling slightly. </p>
<p>"What are you?" said the biggest psi, stepping away from Twig and coming closer. His cock hung out of his trousers, stubby and thick. Nutmeg spared a brief moment to give it whatever the opposite of admiration was. </p>
<p>It was odd, but he felt a bit superior. He'd handled a finer cock, by far, than <i>that</i> pathetic thing. A real cock, huge and powerful, had knotted him deliciously for a week now. And this -- this low, pathetic creature, with such an inferior pole, with nothing to recommend him, could still lord over and hurt his Twig!</p>
<p>It was such a stupid, squalid reality that it made a bubble of bitter laughter fill his chest. But Nutmeg could not think on that. He shook out his hair again, and considered his answer.</p>
<p>"What should I be?" he asked. </p>
<p>Not a thing. A person. A being of value. Today was a topsy-turvy feast day, and he would not be a low omega. He would be something they wanted instead. He thought of Little Glove, Little Glove dancing or teasing, with a fine wolf-belt or with the sun in his hair.</p>
<p>"I am the devotion," he decided. "I am the thing we celebrate today, the gift of Lupa. Aren't I?"</p>
<p>Not one, but two of the psis actually <i>nodded</i>. They seemed hypnotized by Nutmeg, taken with him, this leggy, curvaceous vision in blue silk.</p>
<p>"Today we honor the higher castes on their hunt with the Goddess, little one," mumbled the first psi, coming a bit closer.</p>
<p>Nutmeg blinked at him, long and slow.</p>
<p>"Yes," he said, "but why should only they be honored? Why not you?"</p>
<p>Now the woman-psi looked confused, and she too stepped away from Twig.</p>
<p>"We're psis," she said unsteadily. "We're no one, honored one."</p>
<p>Honored! Nutmeg had to cover his mouth with a hand to keep from laughing. It was so, so hard to keep from laughing. </p>
<p>But then he only had to look at Twig's filthy, ruined body to go sober.</p>
<p>"You are not no one," he told the psis, who were so much worse than no one. Who had power enough to hurt those beneath them. Lupa had given them that, and for a moment Nutmeg hated Her more fiercely than he ever had before.</p>
<p>"You are not no one," he repeated. "You have a place in our Goddess' order. And, since it is the feast of the hunt, you will have a hunt. You will have--"</p>
<p><i>Quarry!</i> Little Glove shrieked, in his mind.</p>
<p>Nutmeg shifted from foot to foot.</p>
<p>"You will have a chase," he finished. "A gift from your Goddess. Yes?"</p>
<p>He gestured at himself. And the four drunken psis, impossibly, grinned like they believed this. They exchanged furtive, delighted looks, and stepped away from their first bit of prey. </p>
<p>Nutmeg held up his hands very quickly.</p>
<p>"If you do one thing!" he stammered out.</p>
<p>The psis stopped. They looked confused. Their heavy psi-scent became tinged with a lack of understanding.</p>
<p>"Free that thing," Nutmeg said, pointing at Twig's body. "Lift him from the stocks -- yes, like, that, very good -- and -- and bring him over this way. Thirty paces, to that hay bale. Hide him on the far side."</p>
<p>He only wanted to get Twig away where Gervaise would not find him. Put him somewhere warm and comparatively safe, to wait things out until Nutmeg could beg his alpha lord to protect Twig. To protect all his family.</p>
<p>It was still astonishing to see the drunken psis obey him. They broke the lock on the stockade easily, flipping up the top bar and lifting Twig out with grunts.</p>
<p>"But why, pretty one?" the woman asked shyly, as her fellows carried Twig in the direction Nutmeg had ordered. </p>
<p><i>Why do you listen to me? Why ask me? I've no idea!</i> Nutmeg wanted to say.</p>
<p>But instead he said, "It pleases Lupa. She has seen how you are -- are given the dregs of the keep! The lowest and most beaten little bitches. And only that, my psi-sister. But why? Psis are strong, hard workers. Fertile. Bountiful. There are more of you than any other caste. Should you not have finer delights every once in a while? No, set this one aside, and pile the hay around him -- careful now! No need to hurt him! -- and hide him, and we will play a little trick on the upper castes. A jest for feast day. Tucking away the sad thing they tried to offer you, making them lose their heads looking for him. And instead..."</p>
<p>By now Twig was settled, more or less, and Nutmeg trailed off. The psis were all standing. Their broad-shouldered forms seemed to turn to him in hungry unison, and he could smell their interest.</p>
<p>Instead...</p>
<p>Oh. Right. Him.</p>
<p>He turned and ran. For someone not used to running, even despite the burning bubble in his chest, he at first thought he was rather good at it. He ran over the long, slick grass, fast and then faster, hearing the psis thundering after him. They were laughing, enjoying it, as if it were a game. He supposed to them it was. To him, it was starting to feel less wonderful. His scratched-up feet hurt, and now that Twig was safer than before, he could feel his other aches again. His heavy, bouncing, tight breasts; the rub of the white silk rope beneath his clothes against his cunt; his flapping, sensitive cocklet. He had no idea where he was going, only that he needed to go far enough to lose them and then double back for his brother. So he wound and twisted between rows of vines, clambering over garden beds and pitching himself towards the sunset, then doubling back again.</p>
<p>For once he was grateful for his long, ungainly legs, which meant he was fast. Fast enough to stay ahead. But then his bleeding foot caught on a root, and he was falling forwards, flat into the dust.</p>
<p>The biggest psi yelled in triumph as he came upon him. His large, burly hands ripped off the blue silk shirt, pawing at the fine silk underthings, and crowing, "Tecawni! Cawret! I've got 'im! Our little rabbit!"</p>
<p>Right. That was the other thing Little Glove had told him.  </p>
<p><i>Or are</i> you<i> a gift, little rabbit? You tell me!</i>  </p>
<p>Nutmeg choked on dust, eyes tearing up, as meaty fingers rubbed his cunt lips. Then a dirty, nasty prick forced itself into him. The hot pole was searingly unpleasant, the smell all <i>wrong</i>, and his scent-gland throbbed as he began to cry. He cried partly from shame, surprised at his reaction to this fuck. It wasn't just that he didn't like it. It was that the feel of a man who wasn't Kinbote disgusted him. Every thrust felt like a violation, because his holes -- his holes now belonged to his alpha.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>Larkin soon figured out it wasn't Nutmeg. Probably because something about carrying a wounded, dirty omega across the fields, as he shouted curses at his brother, made him come to. Kinbote smelled it when he did: Larkin's increased awareness. One minute Larkin was screaming, "How <i>dare</i> you reduce Pet to this and then just trot off, you <i>mongrel</i>, you <i>embarrassment</i>--"</p>
<p>And the next he was choking, taking a deep sniff of the little omega in his arms, even skinnier and more meagre than Nutmeg. And saying, "Oh. Hm. Wait. This isn't Pet at all!"</p>
<p>Kinbote, for his part, kept tracking. </p>
<p>Nutmeg's blood dripped in loops and winding trails through grapevines, and down the rows of psi vegetable gardens behind the huts of the lowest castes. All this landscape was new to Kinbote, but did not seem new to Larkin, who after all knew the keep and surrounding area better than he did. The psi village was largely empty, for the residents were feasting with everyone else down in the keep. But it was still full of distracting farm animal smells, and more than once Kinbote, even with his great wolf's nose, would growl in irritation as he'd think he might have lost the trail.</p>
<p>But he didn't lose it. Not if he went slowly, carefully. Pressed his snout to the ground and followed that pulse, that blooming, sweet burst of beauty and life that was his omega.</p>
<p>More than once, he regretted collaring Nutmeg, closing off the boy's mind. If he hadn't done that, Nutmeg would be easier to find now.</p>
<p>That he could reason like this meant that now he, too, was sensible. Wasn't Lupa-addled. It seemed that his anxiety and fear over losing his omega had sobered him up, and it let him be methodical about tracking Nutmeg, let him hunt slow and precise until he got the scent in his nose and could follow it a few paces more.</p>
<p>In the meantime, Larkin seemed to have gleaned something of what was happening. His voice was low and serious now, as he tripped after Kinbote in the darkening evening, through the stiles and garden lanes of the psi village.</p>
<p>"Is Pet hurt? My Goddess, he is, isn't he? But how did he get outside the keep? Did you set no one to watch him? He's a good, obedient little thing, I know, but an omega still needs minding! Is it just him? Tell me Wisp is not gone as well. And why did we find this poor little creature? He looks even younger than my poor Pet. How his misery makes me shudder! I <i>hate</i> when they're in pain like this. I know some like it! I've read as much! Is that why he's been beaten? How could anyone beat a creature so small and pathetic? It's not right! The priests say that in the wolflands all are to receive according to their station -- well, a station that makes one little and defenseless should then receive protection! Not ill-treatment! Who has <i>done</i> this, do you think? The same people who took Pet?"</p>
<p>Larkin didn't seem to expect an answer from the massive wolf that was his brother, and that was good, because Kinbote didn't have answers for half of those questions. But in the back of his mind he filed away the very real distaste Larkin seemed to have for hurting omegas, the genuine courtesy in how he held and soothed the twitching, mumbling, half-dead boy in his arms. </p>
<p>"You'll be alright," Larkin would say at intervals, cradling Nutmeg's twin with great caution, as if he were trying not to enflame the worst of the bruises. "I'm here, little o. An alpha. That's it, settle in my arms now."</p>
<p>How could this boy have bitten Nutmeg, half-claimed him? This made no sense. This was a mystery Kinbote planned to examine more closely later, once he'd settled the far more pressing mystery of locating his omega.</p>
<p>The sun had nearly fallen behind the horizon when he caught it. That fragrant, enticing lure that was Nutmeg, bold enough to be close. Kinbote made a furious noise and was off, darting through a row of vines into a far field, lightning-fast. Larkin stumbled after him, slower by virtue of being a man and holding such fragile cargo as he did.</p>
<p>Kinbote burst into a clearing amidst the grapevines. An enraged howl was ripped from his throat.</p>
<p>Nutmeg, his Nutmeg, was bent over in the mud, being fucked by someone else. A fat, stupid psi. Unworthy. Unworthy of his omega! This low caste, this hideous interloper. His dirty trousers were around his ankles as he fucked Nutmeg's cunt, to the sounds of jeers from his fellows. Three of them, soaked in drunkenness, and none of them fit to touch Nutmeg.</p>
<p>But it wasn't just possessiveness that made Kinbote snarl and go for the rapist, claws-first. It was the horrible oily humiliation and misery rolling off of his omega.</p>
<p>He had hurt Nutmeg plenty. He knew that. But suddenly he felt intense shame pour through him over this. Nutmeg was being hurt, and Nutmeg should not be hurt. Nutmeg should not be crying soundlessly into the dirt, sore and small and pathetic.</p>
<p>For this, the red haze of the front lines, the battlefield, came over him. Kinbote became instinct. The screaming psis tried to scatter -- and two indeed got away. But the big one, the rapist, he pinned, closing his jaws on the hairy leg with a crunch, hearing the animal shriek of his quarry. And another, a woman, she ran headfirst into Larkin, who gave a cry and instinctively backhanded her into the dirt.</p>
<p>Kinbote paid that no mind. He let his tongue loll out, satisfied by the fear that rolled off of the psi. It was tinged with a deeper stink now. The big brute had pissed himself. And now he was crying, white-faced and stupid, feeling the justice of an alpha before it ended his life. Good.</p>
<p>"Lord, please, please my lord," whimpered the woman by Larkin, "we weren't doing no harm-- a gift from the Goddess -- you may have the bitch if you like--"</p>
<p>Kinbote gave another growl.</p>
<p>If he <i>liked</i>? Nutmeg was his. Nutmeg was his even when he didn't like, and not to be used by these low-caste beasts. He would kill them <i>both</i>--</p>
<p>"Alpha," came a small, rasping voice. </p>
<p>A thin hand touched the fur of his back leg. Light. But it was his omega, Kinbote knew that. He turned his head to look back at Nutmeg, buried his snout in the long, tangled hair. The boy had dragged himself to his knees, wincing, and wound his arms around Kinbote's wolf neck. He kissed his alpha, first a peck, then a full, open-mouthed kiss of submission. That Kinbote was not a man seemed to have no effect on him. His scent had calmed into a sort of relief.</p>
<p>And a sense of responsibility. Nutmeg blinked golden eyes at the big wolf.</p>
<p>"Forgive them," he said, before he passed out. "Please, alpha. It was my fault."</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>It was Larkin who put together that the new omega, the one even smaller and sadder than Nutmeg, had to be Wisp's second child.</p>
<p>Kinbote, who hadn't even imagined Wisp could have yet another child, felt ill-at-ease, like a failure. They had brought the hurt boy to Ataleia at once, so his wounds might be tended. She called for him to be cleaned first, and Larkin, though still very much bare-arsed, had rolled up the sleeves of his tattered crimson shirt and begun demanding a tub full of warm water for the boy. Kinbote managed to show him to the bathing chamber, and Larkin carried the inert little form in and laid it down with great care, turning the taps and testing the water with the back of his bloodied hands.</p>
<p>"And soap! Bring soap at once! Mild, now! He has many cuts. Where is a sponge? I must have a soft sponge!"</p>
<p>"You're going to bathe him?" Kinbote asked. </p>
<p>He was fairly sure Larkin didn't even bathe himself, but had servants do it, like a child.</p>
<p>"Of course I am!" Larkin snapped. "How hard could it be?"</p>
<p>"But you can be careful with him?" Kinbote said. For it was occurring to him now, just how frail Nutmeg's kind could be. He had forgotten how frail they were. Alphas weren't frail. Great pain hardly affected them. So he, and his kind, they failed to realize that these smaller, less powerful little things could hurt so much more horribly than they could.</p>
<p>"Omegas aren't alphas, Larkin. They're more delicate, they need greater care--"</p>
<p>"Shouldn't you tend to the one that was running away from you?" Larkin snapped, without pausing in his ministrations.</p>
<p>Kinbote flinched.</p>
<p>Nutmeg had run. And he didn't know why, though he suspected it had something to do with the boy in front of them, since even he could make that connection. But he knew he needed to talk to his omega, hear his account before jumping to any further conclusions. He and Larkin had nearly murdered some of their own people today. Why? Was it just because Nutmeg had felt like being naughty, and running off? That seemed unlikely. </p>
<p>Either way, he would not uncover the truth standing here and looking out over the younger, more battered omega. Something in his heart twisted, to see the pitiful sight of the boy trembling, his eyelids fluttering, as Larkin gently soaped him. This boy wasn't exactly like Nutmeg. His hair was thicker and curlier, and his eyes didn't seem to have that striking shape his brother's had. But the resemblance was strong enough that it was very like seeing Nutmeg there, bruised-up and small and bleeding. Bad enough for it to be an omega beaten near-dead like this, bad enough for it to Wisp's other child. Worse, for this boy to look so like the omega Lupa had given Kinbote. </p>
<p>Nutmeg's own wounds were being tended in the medical chamber. Kinbote would go find him, have Ataleia rouse him once he was sewn-up.</p>
<p>But Larkin's voice stopped him. It was frosty.</p>
<p>"Tell me Wisp is at least all right," he said.</p>
<p>Kinbote fought his urge to bristle. Larkin didn't know Wisp half as well as he did, nor care for him half as much. But then, Larkin perhaps had his reasons to mistrust Kinbote. Kinbote could see, from the boy's selfless kindness here, that he had likely misjudged the whole situation with Larkin. It stirred a guilty shame in him, to admit this. But he had. His brother wouldn't hurt an omega, not intentionally. If he had nipped Nutmeg, perhaps it had been by accident? Was such a thing possible?</p>
<p>In which case, it was Kinbote who was at fault, for heaping blame on the brother that so loved him. </p>
<p>"Wisp is fine," he said, with a heavy heart. "I have him resting."</p>
<p>"And the pup he was carrying?" Larkin demanded.</p>
<p>It would take too long to explain. Kinbote grimaced.</p>
<p>"Let's not speak of the pup just yet," he said. "But I will tell you the whole later, Larkin. I swear it. Let us -- let us have a meal together later. I owe you that, brother. At least a meal and a drink to your health, after all the trouble you took to sacrifice to Lupa for mine."</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>Before he could speak to Nutmeg, he was accosted by Tellusin in the hall.</p>
<p>His sigma was among the eldest of Kinbote's staff. And the more worldly. Ataleia had trained in Skoll City as a young woman, and was very clever, but had not known much of the workings of the keep when she'd been called to serve him. Zoree and Scawmin and Ingwret were all quite smart, in their way, but had been extremely minor servants in extremely minor roles, and known little of the broader functioning of Raskin's clan or the rest of society.</p>
<p>Tellusin had been a soldier even before he'd joined Kinbote's staff, and a naval man, for a time. He had managed a small, upscale brothel in Skoll City; worked as an errand boy for Kinbote's priestly Uncle Erskine after that; and even written for a broadsheet once upon a time, one which had had a decent circulation among the capital city sigmas. He had volunteered to serve the secondborn when he'd heard Kinbote was to be sent away, and materialized on the keep doorstep with his army pack and a grin, ready to be an odd kind of father to the frightened prince. Sometimes Kinbote thought Tellusin knew him better than he knew himself.</p>
<p>So he always listened, when the man's usually impish face-wolves were still and drawn into a frown like his. Now he permitted Tellusin to draw him into a shadowed corner of the hallway. </p>
<p>He noted distantly that Nutmeg's smear of blood was still on the floor. For some reason, it made him shudder.</p>
<p>"That little Nutmeg is being treated still, Lord," Tellusin said. "And I'm sure you've a mind to see him, even knowing as we do what fine work our 'Leia does. But I'd like to ask for a dram -- the merest dram, Lord! Of your time--"</p>
<p>"Now?" Kinbote ground out. "Really?"</p>
<p>Tellusin's firm expression didn't waver.</p>
<p>"Aye, Lord. Really. You told me to take the boy to the omega quarters--"</p>
<p>Kinbote flinched. Even in his wild, paranoid, panicking state at the mention of that place, he had known he was being unfair. Had known that, likely, all Nutmeg had wanted was to see the other omegas before they left for Skoll City. Omegas were not like alphas, prideful and sniping. They formed strange, close-knit little nests. Kinbote remembered that.</p>
<p>"Pardon," Tellusin was saying in the meantime. "The <i>new</i> omega quarters. I did know, from some cousins, that things had changed in the meantime here, among our keep omegas. Being as we never spent more than two days at a time here, though, lord, I had no call to investigate. Not until today."</p>
<p>"What are you saying?" Kinbote demanded.</p>
<p>Tellusin was a good investigator. A good tracker, a squireller of secrets. Of all his staff, Tellusin and Yyno, Kinbote's beta second, who was waiting for them in Skoll City, made the best spies. Yyno because he was swift and careful. But Tellusin because he was smart.</p>
<p>Tellusin's eyes wrinkled. Not in mirth, but in some other, more cautious emotion.</p>
<p>"These are not the omega quarters you remember, lord. Aye, there was never much care given to the o-sluts out here in the country, but there was still a...a sense of <i>responsibility</i>, lord. One needs that, when one is breeding pets, I always say. Give them care and structure and discipline, like you might with any puppy you wish to make a fine hound, and you will own them true. But treat them like trash, and you'll render them worthless. That you can see in any of the foul omega mills that serve the worst houses down in Skoll. It's the difference between a whorehouse and a whore-pit, if you don't mind my saying."</p>
<p>"I'm not sure I understand what you're saying," Kinbote said, though it was beginning to dawn, and it made his chest feel tight and hollow, as if he could not breathe.</p>
<p>"The boy had a tantrum," Tellusin said, confusingly. "The place is improper, lord, and the little sluts poorly-treated, and the boy had a tantrum. I would have left it at that, but it bothered me. The madness that came on him. He has such a shaky air, we were thinking he was spoiled a bit, yes? Made to believe he could be more than his caste, and therefore reared improper. Nonsensical punishments mixed with too much leeway will do that to a bitch, after all. </p>
<p>“Then he tantrumed. Mad. Among the others, all looking half-starved and dead-eyed. In my day, screaming fits, dead eyes, those were the signs of sluts more broken than just poorly trained. So, lord, I went back to my cousins. That was when I learned about the show."</p>
<p>"The show?" Kinbote said. "What show?"</p>
<p>Not an omega show, surely. There were ten thousand in Skoll City, from the merely bawdy to the outright disgusting. It had become something of a fad in the past twenty years, a form of cheap amusement. Omegas painted like little cows, or thrown into a fighting ring. Omegas bred cruelly to donkeys, or merely made to hop about singing ditties, wearing false ears and big false cocks in their arses with poofy tails attached that made them look like bunny rabbits.</p>
<p>Kinbote had never been able to sit through any of these, neither the cruel nor the silly. They made him uncomfortable, unhappy on a deep, innate level he tried very hard not to examine.</p>
<p>"This Gervaise," Tellusin was saying now, with significance, "he takes no pride in his charges or his post, Lord. Not like Havis. Havis, he <i>was</i> accused of spoiling them! Not Gervaise. Gervaise fancies himself an artist, and emulates the art he likes best from Skoll. Smears it with a great dollop of false flattery for his patron, too, Lord. You ought to see the theatre alone! But it's the contents of the theatre that trouble me. The show is on now--"</p>
<p>"Let's see it," Kinbote said.</p>
<p>He knew, from the gleam in his sigma's eye, that this was what Tellusin would shortly be proposing anyway. And he knew, from the sinking sensation in his chest, that this was what he <i>had</i> to do. On the front lines, it was precisely this squalid, growing sense of unease that usually charged him. When there was darkness on the horizon, an encroaching enemy battalion, too many of his own men wounded, that was precisely when he was to fight the hardest. Throw himself into the fray. He was an alpha. Alphas did not shy away from hard realities. They were meant to face them head on, for the protection of those weaker than they were.</p>
<p>So, after he changed his clothes and splashed some water on his dirt-streaked face, he allowed Tellusin to take the lead. At first, the sigma took, eerily enough, the same path Nutmeg had earlier in the day. But then he veered off, and they progressed in stages through a few key sections of the keep: the well-appointed gamma quarters, which were still less sumptuous than Kinbote's own; the weird warren of hallways by the epsilon wing; the lower levels by the kitchen. Then even further out, where the halls became truly shabby, the floors giving way from marble to painted wood to cobblestone to packed earth.</p>
<p>Here, the classes became lower and lower, too. It was almost all taus and psis and a few chis about, snoring away their drunkenness in corners, or softly snickering over games of dice. Their eyes widened as they saw him: Kinbote was so much larger and more imposing that he was unmistakable. Many prostrated themselves, or called out blessings, or prayers. He was relieved when, just as they looked to reach a great, loud crowd clustered by a wide-open doorway, Tellusin darted into an empty side hall instead.</p>
<p>There was a shabby stairwell here, looping up to a sort of catwalk. The noise of the crowd died away, and now all Kinbote could hear was distant singing. But here the odd melange of different caste-scents blended out into one, much stronger smell:</p>
<p>Omega pain. Not as bad as that of the boy Larkin was tending. But still clear. To Kinbote, this much of it, <i>scores</i> of it, rolling off of not one omega but many, formed a sort of rancid, rotten sweetness, a thing that made him gag and angered him deep at his core.</p>
<p>"Up this way, Lord," Tellusin said, darting up the wooden slats of the stair, which creaked beneath him. "There's a little bolthole in the wall. We can see into the theatre that way, say my cousins."</p>
<p>Kinbote dared to lend his own more considerable weight to the flimsy stair. It groaned beneath him, but held, and he climbed up precariously, to the long, protruding platform of splintered wood above. Tellusin beckoned him down a bit, and then fiddled with one of the shabby wooden slats of the wall, shifting it aside to reveal a hole. Kinbote peered through.</p>
<p>He began to choke.</p>
<p>This had happened to him a few times as a child, first when he'd been brought to Kinshasha, and then when he'd been sent off to the front. This sudden inability to breathe, this ringing in his ears, the fierce fists his hands seemed to force themselves into of their own accord. His nails, more a wolf's claws than a man's nails, shredded his own skin. He saw nothing for a few long moments, or, rather, he saw everything. Everything he wished he hadn't.</p>
<p>The theatre was as garish as any in Skoll, only more awful, because it was <i>Kinbote</i> garishly carved there, looking approving of the -- the utter <i>torture</i> happening on the stage.</p>
<p>He had not thought to wonder what had become of the warg he'd brought Larkin. He'd tossed it aside, the big, cruel church-bred animal, meant for hunting and warfare. </p>
<p>He hadn't thought he would see it crush a living person beneath itself. It was howling and yowling with delight, plowing an small omega who was on his hands and knees. This boy, likely not much older than his Nutmeg, was tear-streaked, but singing:</p>
<p>"<i>Another load, another load,<br/>Of cum; it can't be beat!<br/>That's why they call me Bonbon!<br/>My cunt was once so sweet!<br/>But now it's sore and bloody, <br/>and looks more like mincemeat!</i>"</p>
<p>Kinbote recoiled, nearly falling off the platform. The crowd in the theatre was jeering, laughing, singing along. Several other omegas had danced about on the stage, adding their sad voices to the song, waving their skinny arses, a parade of claw-marks, cumstains, and minor injuries. Each face had been painted to smile, painted with bright lips like a whore's, but the eyes were flat and lifeless. One had been child-heavy and still made to dance. That cruelty was not even legal in <i>Skoll</i>, where omegas could be <i>killed</i> for fun.</p>
<p>Kinbote gave a shout of formless rage, unable to or unwilling to understand. Raskin had permitted this? Why? How? Kinbote had -- the <i>one</i> thing Kinbote had asked his father was to look after their omegas. The one thing that child sent off to war had asked.</p>
<p>The only relief he could find in the situation was that none of them was familiar. Clasp and Little Glove had died at the front, of course. But he had not spotted Cherry, nor Titmouse, nor Vise, nor Muffin. </p>
<p>"Lord," Tellusin cut in now, as if sensing the line of his thoughts. "Did you see the little dark-haired one?"</p>
<p>The one beneath the Warg. Yes. Kinbote closed his eyes and tried to breathe.</p>
<p>"That's Clasp's second pup, lord."</p>
<p>It was a good thing the platform was not too high up. Kinbote's howl of rage and subsequent transformation left the slats splintering and breaking beneath them, dropping them like stones to the floor.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>Later, after Tellusin had had his wounds briefly tended, and Ataleia was addressing those of the younger omega, Kinbote sat with Nutmeg.</p>
<p>He'd had the boy moved to a room near Wisp's. It was a bit smaller, but just as richly painted and paneled. Nutmeg looked very small in the bed, and very pale.</p>
<p><i>What did you think?</i> Kinbote demanded to himself. <i>What did you think he might have come from? And why does this shock you? You have known and seen worse happen, even to his kind! You have told yourself that it was acceptable, even that sometimes it was</i> right.</p>
<p>Aye, but then it had not been happening to these omegas. To the children of Clasp, of Little Glove, of the others. To--</p>
<p><i>--pack</i>, he thought, and then flinched on instinct.</p>
<p>He ought to have reproached himself for that thought. A lifetime's worth of penance, he'd done, for that precise thought. But now there was no time to hate himself. Nutmeg was stirring, letting out soft moans. It was past midnight now, the dark start to a new day, and the omega's golden eyes gleamed even in the dark.</p>
<p>"A-alpha?" he said, the purr of his normally-lovely voice worn down to a whisper. </p>
<p>"Yes, omega," Kinbote said, after a few moments.</p>
<p>Nutmeg blinked.</p>
<p>"Did I save--did this thing save Twig?" he asked piteously. He blinked, and Kinbote saw that his eyes were wet. "This thing was trying to save Twig, lord. My brother. As I tried to save mam, but I am so useless, lord, that half the time I make things worse--"</p>
<p>"You saved him," Kinbote cut in. "You saved Twig. You saved them both, didn't you? Protected your mother, brought in Larkin to help Wisp, just as they said you did. And now you ran from your alpha to save your brother."</p>
<p>Nutmeg's chest shook as his tears fell harder.</p>
<p>"Aye. This thing is a <i>bad</i> omega, lord, and I know I will be punished, and this thing will accept it, lord--"</p>
<p>"You won't be punished for this," Kinbote forced out, wiping at his own eyes. "Not for this, Nutmeg. Tomorrow -- today, I mean. Today, I want you to rest. You've had punishment enough for today."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. An Accounting</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Larkin and Kinbote broke their fast just as the Goddess set the sun in motion.</p><p>The sky was still dark, but streaked with bursts of pink. To Kinbote's dining room, Zoree and Ingwret brought fresh-killed goat in onions, soft river trout rolled in breadcrumbs, a salad of olives and eggs, a haunch of braised pork, several fig tarts, beef in green walnut sauce, and vast quantities of spiced sausage on soft bread. </p><p>The simple country fare reminded Kinbote that, actually, he was famished.</p><p>He had not eaten properly in a week, not counting Nutmeg's milk. So now he ate before saying anything, and so did Larkin. Then, when they were done with the first round, they called for wine, and two more rounds of everything. For the first time in days, Kinbote felt his mind clear, a headache he hadn't even been aware of abating.</p><p>The sky was considerably lighter when they were done with their third course of everything, and then, tense, the alphas looked at each other.</p><p>The cut on Larkin’s face, and his stern expression, made him seem less a child and more an equal. </p><p>He had been so hostile on this visit. More so than any other time Kinbote had seen him in person. It was as if the gentle, chattering little brother he met in Larkin's letters were a fiction. But no. That <i>was</i> the real Larkin: caring, and clever for his age, and lonely, in his way. A good young man, who would become a great alpha. </p><p>Kinbote had to allow that, perhaps, the hostility had therefore been his fault.  Goddess, Larkin was seventeen, a child, and he twenty-six! No matter what had happened with Larkin and Nutmeg, the unhappy furrow in Larkin's brow now was Kinbote's fault.</p><p>He rubbed his forehead as he tried to take responsibility. </p><p>"Larkin. Brother. I'm sorry. I've misstepped. I know there is bad blood between us--"</p><p>Larkin brandished a fork at him.</p><p>"You took Pet from me--"</p><p>"Nutmeg," Kinbote said, deciding to forgive the fork-brandishing if he could just educate the boy a bit. "His name is Nutmeg, Larkin. When you claim an omega, you must learn their name. And I had believed you half-claimed him, a cruel thing to do--"</p><p>Larkin's eyebrows crawled up his princely forehead, showing his affront. "Half-claimed? I had fully claimed him! I was sheltering my Pet, caring for him, he <i>adored</i> me--"</p><p>"Because you bit him," Kinbote said slowly.</p><p>"Bit him?" Larkin cried. "What? What are you saying? I -- well. Maybe I did. I don't know? What does it matter?"</p><p>Kinbote took in a long breath. Now they were coming to it. Yes. Larkin had been ignorant. He had surrendered to instinct, and not known what he was doing. Of course. It made sense, in a certain light.</p><p>"When you bite that special spot on his neck, Larkin--"</p><p>"His scent gland?" Larkin said, blinking. He put the spoon down. "I wouldn't have bitten that. He had a horrible scar there. And, anyway, Olakna says that when I am twenty she will show me some books on how it is a bad thing to do. Though why I should need books, I don't know. I would never deliberately hurt an omega's scent gland. They're very sensitive there, omegas!"</p><p>Kinbote stared at him.</p><p>"You didn't bite him," he said.</p><p>"Rather not," Larkin said, leaning back in his chair and stretching out. He still looked petulant, but less so. There was almost a bit of relief on his face. </p><p>"Why does it matter?" he asked. "Did you think I had hurt him? I wouldn't! It was probably whoever used him before me, Kinbote. He's an omega. He serves most people in the keep--"</p><p>"No," Kinbote said sharply. It would have had to be another alpha. Only another alpha could have caused such an effect. But there were only two other alphas in the keep. And neither of them would have wanted to claim an omega. Raskin just liked to use them, and as for--</p><p>"--Warekin had him before me! You may as well accuse Warekin!"</p><p>Kinbote choked on his wine.</p><p>No. </p><p>Warekin wouldn't. Of all the alphas in the world, Warekin would never sully himself by even considering fucking an omega. Warekin had his eye on the daughter of one of their neighboring clans, the Lady Ebrinne-brin-alpha.</p><p>"What is so terrible about biting them there, anyway?" Larkin wondered now.</p><p>Kinbote managed to swallow his wine before answering.</p><p>"I. Well. Have you ever read any, er. Any pornography, Larkin? Or did you mean omega porn when you spoke of those special books Olakna mentioned?"</p><p>Larkin looked disgusted.</p><p>"That trash! Never! She would not dare! The Codex Llobu says no alpha should bother themselves with merely fantasizing about sex, Kinbote! It is our right to take it from those who love giving it to us, and omegas love it the most, as their minds are so empty and their cunts so wet--"</p><p>"I'm well aware what is said," Kinbote cut in. "I--wait. What? You read that in the holy book?"</p><p>It had been some time since he had read the holiest book in the world cover to cover, but he was fairly certain it didn't say anything about how omegas were needy cock-sluts. When omegas were mentioned in the text at all, it tended to devolve into curious poetry, all about flowers and trees and blooms and rivers. It was probably fairly sexual, but it certainly didn't mention wet cunts.</p><p>"The updates," Larkin was confiding now. "From the priests! All the new pamphlets they've been writing, Kinbote. They're wonderful. Very clear and direct on the order of things, and the role of an alpha--"</p><p>"Ah, I see," Kinbote said, although he really did not see at all. "And those pamphlets: they don't tell you the easiest way to make an omega needy? Really needy?"</p><p>Larkin straightened up, looking, regrettably, sort of interested.</p><p>"The easiest way is not the right way," Kinbote said hurriedly. "Sometimes alphas will bite an omega on their scent gland. It makes the omega fall into what's called a <i>heat</i>, prepares them to take the alpha's knot. If the knot is given, and the seed catches in the womb, the omega is sort of bonded to you, becomes yours and yours alone, your partner by right, who will want you above all, and fall into heat at your will, and love you without reservation. Not just love any alpha for being an alpha, but only love you for being you--"</p><p>"<i>Really?</i>" Larkin said, eyes as wide as saucers. "What -- like a proper marriage bond? Like Arlorr's bond to Lupa Herself? But to an omega? Such a phenomenon cannot be real--"</p><p>"It is," Kinbote said abruptly. "Believe me, Larkin, it really is. And it's said by the more radical theorists that this is even -- that it can be good for the omega. To be claimed. It gives them structure, and a place when they did not have one. It brings them into the caste hierarchy, by making them yours, completely yours. A good omega will be grateful for such a blessing, and will serve you with love in his heart. Our Uncle Erskine is a great fan of it for that reason, though he is, admittedly, a bit of a progressive. That is claiming. It is not spoken of in polite society, but neither is it cruel. What is cruel is to bite them and not complete your claim on them. This renders them heat-addled forever, cock-hungry for you, little more than your slave."</p><p>Larkin looked confused.</p><p>"But brother," he said slowly, like he didn't understand, and was trying to figure it out for himself. "Aren't they that anyway? They're meant to be cock-hungry for us. That is their purpose. Why would it be cruel for them to be made what they should be? Unless..."</p><p>He trailed off. Looked stricken.</p><p>"Wait!" Larkin cried out, sounding strangled. His long lashes fluttered as he blinked rapidly. "Wait. But. Brother. If they need to be <i>claimed</i> to love us, does that mean that, deep down, they don't actually like us at all?"</p><p>-</p><p>Kinbote thought Larkin must be telling the truth, if only because he'd seemed genuinely dismayed at the notion that his sexual conquests might not adore him.</p><p>Boyish arrogance on his part, yes. But it wasn't malicious, not really. Larkin clearly had little stomach for malice. Which meant another had tormented Nutmeg with a bite, but the thought that it could possibly be Warekin was laughable.</p><p>Still, he resolved to get Gervaise's books. There would be a record of sale. Or there ought to be. There had been, in Havis' day. In Havis' day, the profits from the omegas had been marked down in great ledgers, so that a suitable percentage might shared with the omegas. Used for their little comforts: pretty slippers, soft cushions, an allowance so that they might bribe the upsilons for a treat or two.</p><p>Erskine, Kinbote's uncle, tried his best to keep a household like that with his omega. Slit, a brothel-rescue, was well-disciplined and made to play his part, to be an appealing and a willing whore. But he was occasionally coddled, too. It was not <i>all</i> sexual torment for him. Sometimes Erskine indulged his bitch, not even for Slit's delight, for Slit was a dumb, broken thing that lacked real understanding of kindness; but simply because it brought Erskine great pleasure to not have to be cruel.</p><p>Kinbote had been hoping that he and Nutmeg might get to such a state themselves. But that hope had been premised on the idea that Nutmeg was likely to be open to it. Improperly trained, countrified, and possibly even a bit spoiled, yes. Spoiled enough to think himself greater than his caste. Kinbote had assumed that he needed harsh, high-intensity training to make him see reason. To teach him that there <i>could</i> be joy in submitting, true pleasure in a claiming. </p><p>Kinbote had described that process to Larkin more as he had hoped it could be, than as it actually was for anyone of his knowledge, but still. Surely a true union had been possible. Could have been possible. Before he'd learned that Nutmeg was -- was closer to Slit than he realized. Nutmeg had not known the small joys of Havis' omega quarters. These days, the omegas of the Kin keep appeared to have no comforts at all.</p><p>He would confirm that for himself, however, once he dined with Gervaise. And he would be dining with Gervaise. Today was the day of fast-breaking, when the lords and ladies who had taken part in devotions stayed in their chambers and gorged themselves privately on food, drink, sex, and sleep.</p><p>Kinbote did not. Kinbote checked on his omegas after breakfast, ordering that they be carefully moved all three into Wisp's bed, where they could nest the way their kind liked. Nutmeg had been half-awake for that, and the sweet look of relief on his face as he curled up to his mother and brother prodded at a tender, vulnerable place in Kinbote. But he'd meant it when he'd said he wanted Nutmeg to rest. He left his omega largely alone after that, and went and drew his bath, and changed to a striking suit of black he knew made him look particularly imposing. </p><p>He needed to dress. He would be having guests for the next two meals. </p><p>At noon, Lady Yfair came, just as he had summoned her.</p><p>She was pale. Perhaps this could have been blamed on the week of devotions. She, too, had fasted and partaken of the lupine mushroom. But something about her looked so depleted that Kinbote thought it was far, far more likely, that he was to blame for the papery white in her hair and the shaking of her hands.</p><p>She was mourning Yyls. </p><p><i>Good</i>, he thought.</p><p>That would make things easier. He stood to help her to the same velvet-padded chair Larkin had sat in, but she would not take his hand. She was stiff as she seated herself before a spread twice as magnificent as the one he'd served Larkin. She did not even blink at it.</p><p>"You have something to tell me," she said, without preamble. It was very forward to speak to an alpha so. Kinbote's eyebrows rose slightly.</p><p>"Perhaps I wanted to get to know you, being so impressed by your poise and your great composure at the trial, Lady."</p><p>"I am five times your age, know your history, and you just claimed an ugly little whore as your toy," Lady Yfair snorted, picking up her fork and spearing a side of pork-and-orange salad, throwing over propriety entirely. "Do not pussyfoot me. Say what you mean to, Prince Kinbote. You must know that, after what became of my Yyls, I am not fond of your face."</p><p>She wasn't just mourning. She was angry.</p><p>
  <i>Good.</i>
</p><p>"Do you like the food?" Kinbote asked, keeping his tone bland.</p><p>Lady Yfair gave him a look of deep loathing.</p><p>"Tolerable enough," she said, sampling the salad. "You must have a very good upsilon."</p><p>"But I do," Kinbote said, smiling now. "Ingwret is a treasure. He serves me most faithfully, testing the very rarest poisons on himself, so that he might spot them better in my food -- and that of my guests. His palate is renowned, lady. It was he who first detected the great aavis fir poisoning, you know. On the front lines. He who began to teach the other upsilons its peculiar taste and feel. By the time he cracked it, the cats had smuggled in poisons to the keeps, and we were too late to save my blessed mother from dying in agony. But we saved many who would have died otherwise. Now, all the best-trained upsilons know how to spot it."</p><p>Lady Yfair's thin face soured.</p><p>"Well," she said. "Message received. You cannot be poisoned even if I wanted to poison you for what you have done to Yyls. Nicely done, my lord."</p><p>Kinbote took a swig of his wine thoughtfully.</p><p>"That wasn't the message," he said, when he swallowed. "The message, Lady, is that tonight I dine with the Master of Omegas. Ingwret will be training one of the younger upsilons, a girl with little skill for detecting the rarer poisons like the aavis fir. He will also, of course, be taste-testing my food."</p><p>Kinbote grinned.</p><p>"But it shall be a very young and unpracticed poison-tester, Lady Yfair, who will be tasting for Gervaise."</p><p>-</p><p>Before Gervaise's arrival, Larkin, who had fled to his own chambers for a bath and a change of clothing, returned.</p><p>"You're not staying for dinner," Kinbote told him, as they walked together to the high, secure tower room where the omegas were.</p><p>Larkin snorted.</p><p>"I don't want to stay for your poison-plan! Frankly, I think you should rip his throat out--"</p><p>"Rip out the throat of one of our people?" Kinbote said. "Would you do it, Larkin? Or would that not make you appear a monster to them? We have standards and an image we must uphold. Ware is right about that--"</p><p>Larkin rolled his long-lashed brown eyes.</p><p>"I wouldn't do it because I need people to like me," he said, plain about it. "I'm a fourthborn, who hasn't Turned and has earned no glory on the battlefield. I'm scarcely a real alpha at all, and I don't pretend I can act like one! But you are as alpha as any who ever was. People don't have to like you, and your justice need not be explained to anyone, the priests say. Alphas like you are to be revered, they say. I won't pretend I always do revere you -- or at least not this week! -- but then I'm not a priest, Kinbote, and so I'm hardly an expert. But even so. If any of us could get away with an honest, above-board killing of the man, it would be you!"</p><p>Talk like this normally had no effect on Kinbote -- it did not flatter him, but neither did it annoy him. It simply was, and it had little to do with his real merit, which was a question for his conscience and for the Goddess.</p><p>But it was worrying, to hear this sort of thing from Larkin. Kinbote had met many an alpha in Skoll City and on the front lines who would have agreed, who thought it was an alpha’s prerogative to be as blatantly brutal as possible, and damn the effect this had on the betas, gammas, deltas, and other thinking castes. And perhaps this was just Larkin's youth talking, but even so. </p><p>They were nearly at the tower, but he stopped, before a narrow stained glass window that cast crimson light on them both. When these had been Uskind's rooms, Kinbote had been frightened of this little corridor, with its long shadows and its dark corners. It was so different from where he'd grown up.</p><p>"Is that all you think an alpha is, Larkin?" he asked slowly. "A creature that brutalizes its charges, and demands reverence for that?"</p><p>Larkin scoffed.</p><p>"That pissant Gervaise is not our charge--"</p><p>"They are <i>all</i> our charge, Larkin," Kinbote said. "Every one of the other castes. It is not all pack and power. It is responsibility as well. Gervaise must be put down for the common good, but it is not something to revel in. Because whatever we do, we do not do for pack alone. We do it for the whole of the wolflands, to maintain the hierarchy and balance, and protect them all."</p><p>Even, damn him, the omegas. </p><p>He had forgotten that this also included the omegas. He swallowed, and wished he could hit something. </p><p>Larkin didn’t notice this momentary gloom. And he did not look put-out, or put-down by Kinbote’s pronouncements, as Kinbote had thought he might. Larkin was grinning a bit, as if Kinbote had confirmed something for him.</p><p>"You would know more than me," he told Kinbote lightly, and then sped up his pace, to reach the door of the tower room before his brother.</p><p>Just as Larkin's hand touched it, there was a little, piteous cough.</p><p>Too soft to be Nutmeg. Nutmeg had a lusty voice, for an omega, an arresting voice that curled up the spine of his listeners. Altogether a wrong voice for his caste. And indeed, when Larkin pushed open the door and the alphas peered in, Nutmeg was fast asleep, between his mother and his brother.</p><p>It was the latter, Twig, who had been roused now. </p><p>In the light of day, clean and bandaged and soothed with salve, it was easy to pick out what made him different from Nutmeg. Not just his scent, which was a delicate shade off from his brother's, but also his huge eyes, which were much rounder. His hair was less shining but a great deal softer-looking, falling in curls, and his face was more square than Nutmeg's, his chin a bit more boyish. </p><p>"Oh," Larkin said, apropros of nothing, his own scent becoming <i>very</i> interested indeed. "Hallo, omega."</p><p>"Twig," Kinbote grunted.</p><p>Larkin didn't so much as blink. He took a deep sniff of that characteristic omega scent -- wariness, need, interest, lust, and roaring, attractive submission. Twig was not meeting their eyes, but he was broadcasting, like all his kind couldn't help but to do.</p><p>"Hallo, Twig," Larkin said, a bit more softly.</p><p>"H-hallo. Honorables. Lords. My lords," Twig whispered, haltingly, as if he did not know the right words.</p><p>The initial shyness was expected. What was less expected was the way the boy then raised his eyes to them, with the same strange boldness his brother had at times. He also had the same near-whisky color to his eyes that Nutmeg did.</p><p>"You are Nutmeg's alpha," he said. "And -- and you, my lord, you are good Prince Larkin."</p><p>"Am I good?" Larkin wondered.</p><p>Twig worried at his coverlet with thin, quick fingers, but didn't drop his gaze.</p><p>"This thing's mam has said you are, lord. Said you are kind."</p><p>"What a relief," Larkin said, with a handsome mock-exaggerated sigh. "I was beginning to worry. Lately my brother and I have begun to debate, pretty Twig-puss, of whether our kind have many charms at all. Real charms. Too complex a question to upset you with--"</p><p>"Am not upset," Twig said, shrugging. Now he looked away, out of the window. "Am an omega, lord. Should you wish to upset this thing, you could. Would be your right."</p><p>"A poor right to actually invoke, I'm starting to think," Larkin retorted. "At least deliberately. But enough of that. How are you feeling?"</p><p>Twig bit his lip.</p><p>"Hale, lord," he said. "This thing hurts much less."</p><p>Then, with that same odd boldness, though this time used very differently than Nutmeg seemed to use it, he looked again at the alphas and asked: "Will you be fucking this thing, then, Lordships? Since this thing is for fucking."</p><p>"No!" Kinbote barked out.</p><p>Goddess. The very thought, the very notion of touching someone not Nutmeg made his skin crawl. Particularly someone who seemed even younger and smaller than his omega. Nutmeg was appealingly small, but Twig looked fragile as a little bird, scarcely a man yet.</p><p>Of course, so too was Larkin midway between boy and man. And now Kinbote's brother could not be said to walk to the bed -- it would be better to say that he <i>prowled</i>. </p><p>Kinbote knew it had affected him, to think that his partners could want him, and yet <i>not</i>. It affected Kinbote the same way, how he'd heard Nutmeg's initial despair at being claimed. Alphas were like demigods: built for reverence, designed for it. To learn that perhaps, in some small heart somewhere, there lurked enough defiance not to adore them was not only displeasing. It was earth shattering.</p><p>So his brother now took a careful sniff of the skinny boy on the bed, and then squatted so they were at eye level.</p><p>Twig's little thrum of need doubled. The young omega bared his neck, artless, innocent, as if he had no idea he were doing it.</p><p>"Are you sore?" Larkin demanded. "You were with Kinbote's theta for a good while, and should not be, but--"</p><p>The boy trembled at this. Looked fearful. His scent soured, too.</p><p>"--what?" Larkin said, aghast. "What is it? You are sore? Or you don't like thetas?"</p><p>"Don't like the gelding," Twig mumbled, sinking into his pillows a bit. "'m not done, this thing knows, this thing knows it must have more gelding treatments, but <i>please</i>--"</p><p>"Oh!" Larkin said. He waved his hands about wildly, as if clearing the air. "Oh, <i>no</i>! They've been healing you, Twig-puss! Not hurting you! And, really, what a stupid tradition, cutting off the use of your sweet little cocklet--"</p><p>The omega calmed, tenderly trusting. He stuck a few fingers in his mouth and went back to looking at Larkin frankly, as if he were enjoying the alpha's attention.</p><p>Larkin's eyes gleamed, as if he knew he were being enjoyed. Enjoyed being enjoyed.</p><p>Kinbote cleared his throat at this.</p><p>"I'm not going to fuck you right now either," Larkin said hastily, hearing that.</p><p>But he leaned forward and pressed his hand lightly to the boy's scent gland, like a caress. He shot a wary look at Kinbote, who had explained to him the significance of this, of gentling them like this. Kinbote nodded. Larkin looked to be gentle enough.</p><p>Larkin added: "Not in your current state. Not unless you ask me to."</p><p>Twig's big eyes blinked. His slender body had relaxed into the pillows with a sigh, and he curved into Larkin's touch like a plant seeking light. Larkin looked both relieved and rather taken by the weak little gesture.</p><p>“Shall we...talk?” Larkin said, after a few moments, as if he were casting about for something, anything he could do with an omega that wasn’t purely carnal. “You are Wisp’s second pup, yes? I hadn’t realized there were younger ones of your sort about, or that Wisp had a second pup—“</p><p>"’m not young," Twig mumbled drowsily, blinking and settling even further into his pillows. “This thing was broken proper, lord, and is adult now. All this thing’s holes have been used—“</p><p>“Oh,” Larkin said, looking perplexed and almost sad at this answer. </p><p>“Keyhole and Sleeve and Gem are the only children now, Lord—“</p><p>Larkin grabbed the little hand, placing it between two of his own and rubbing it soothingly. </p><p>“Your friends?”</p><p>“Mmm,” Twig said sleepily. “And I care for them, lord. Mam says am like their little mother, for I sing to them when they need, Lord, and brush their hair, and—“</p><p>The skinny omega broke off with a yawn. Larkin took the opportunity to run fingers through the pale brown curls, a gesture Twig settled into almost instinctively. </p><p>“And who sings to you, Sweetheart? Who cares for you, my Twig-puss?”</p><p>Kinbote left them softly chatting like this, bathed in the light from the window. </p><p>-</p><p>Kinbote called for supper in his hearing room.</p><p>This was the same room he'd held the trial in. It was vast and dark -- even darker than the rest of the heir's quarters -- and it felt appropriate, to him for the final meal.</p><p>Gervaise's, that was.</p><p>He privately agreed with Larkin, that to kill a man with subterfuge was not ideal. Kinbote did not like it. Kinbote liked battle, liked the war camp, where a fight could be straightforward. Poisons and lies -- these were the methods employed in Skoll City, where the balance between castes was ever shifting, the rivalries of clans were intense, and so even alphas stooped to behave like snow leopards. </p><p>But if ever a man deserved the weak, traitorous end that was poison, it was Gervaise.</p><p>Still, it could not be said that his prince did not fete him. Kinbote did. Kinbote demanded the greatest spread of all -- wine-soaked plums, and olive-stuffed hens, and lemon-sugar puddings -- for he wanted Gervaise to <i>eat</i>.</p><p>The corpse-pale, hideous little man had enough sense, at least, to regard Kinbote with mistrust. And fear. He appeared at the appointed time, just as he was summoned to, but was quite as nervous and sniveling as he had been at the trial, and Kinbote was briefly disgusted not by his nervousness, but by the complete assurance the alpha had, in his heart, that this man was likely <i>very</i> assured with his charges. Men like this often were. In the war camp, Kinbote had known many who would cringe before a superior officer, before returning to their tents and ruthlessly abusing their underlings. </p><p>He had nothing but contempt for it. If a man was to be low and cringing, let that at least be his uncompromising, tragic nature, and therefore not wholly his fault. But a coward -- a coward was one thing to those that could dominate him, and another to those he could dominate. The hypocrisy made Kinbote rage.</p><p>And he had always been bad at hiding his emotions. He did not even try now, as he grunted and stepped aside to let Gervaise into the room. The magnificent spread on the table -- heaps of rolls, platters of fine iced cakes, all lit by the warm glow of the candles -- was welcoming enough, and indeed the Master of Omegas made a small sound of confused relief to see it.</p><p>"Please, help yourself," Kinbote said. "But I will have the books."</p><p>Gervaise held a satchel, and this Kinbote took easily. He had demanded the Master bring him his records of the omegas, and now it was as nothing to pretend that this was the source of his anger.</p><p>"It has come to my knowledge, from the omega near-dead when I arrived, and the omega near-dead which mine brother found out by the fields, that Larkin has been remiss in managing part of the keep. Specifically, your part. As an alpha, this is a slight by our caste. You should be supported, Gervaise. Given the means to keep your charges alive. I would see if I can give my brother some instructions to this effect, before I leave for the City. So please, sit and enjoy, while I look over your books to see how we might best provide for your...operation."</p><p>There were few lies in this. It <i>was</i> partly Larkin's fault, or -- more likely, Raskin's, for Larkin was young and overburdened and ignorant of so much; and it was their father who was really responsible -- that Gervaise had been given such free rein. This, too, made anger sear in Kinbote. </p><p>Still, Gervaise plainly knew he was in trouble. The man took his seat just as Kinbote sat, but unlike Kinbote, he squirmed. He cast fearful glances at the food before him, plainly not as stupid as Kinbote took him for, before Ingwret appeared to cut and sample each dish, with his crooked, reassuring smile.</p><p>Kinbote also made sure to lean forward and accept the portions Ingwret handed over to him. Natural. Easy. Not at all like a man who had five times survived the painful ravages of aavis fir poisoning and who fully understood the consequences, the horrible death that awaited him, should his built-up resistance not prove effective a fifth time.</p><p>Still. He speared a side of guinea fowl steeped in goat cheese and raisins, and downed it with no fear.</p><p>Gervaise relaxed a fraction. He stammered out some thanks which Kinbote scarcely listened to, for now Kinbote greedily pulled out the books.</p><p>He had meant only to look for Nutmeg's recent clients. Just that. But the first leatherbound ledger was some years too old, and the names inside gave him a shock.</p><p>Cherry, sold to a sigma named Restellin for 10 lupines, some seventeen years ago, and returned in good condition, happy as a lark. Titmouse, sold to a group of thetas for forty, returned with some unspecified damage which would have to be redressed. The hand here was careful and familiar to Kinbote -- Havis' hand -- and so he should have put the ledger down and selected another, but he couldn't. He was briefly transfixed, seeing their faces in his mind's eye, hearing their soft, gentle little voices in his ear.</p><p>"I hope all is well, Lord?" Gervaise asked nervously.</p><p>All was horror. Kinbote bit back a growl and managed to wave a hand at him.</p><p>"These are very complete," he was able to say, with difficulty. "They go back some years."</p><p>"Of course. I live to do my duty to our alpha heir," Gervaise said unctuously.</p><p><i>You should do your duty to your charges!</i> Kinbote wanted to snarl. But he kept quiet as he ate and read. Leafing back through the ledger, he found the place where, nineteen years ago, Clasp had been too bruised-up from a hard birthing to be sold to anyone:</p><p><i>Bonbon. Omega. Plump and sweet. Would that I could protect him,</i> Havis had noted, of the child.</p><p>He found, too, when Clasp and Little Glove had been summoned to serve him and Uskind, to go with them to the front, and Wisp first introduced to training. Kinbote turned the page so violently he almost knocked over his goblet.</p><p>"My lord?" Gervaise said. "Ah, yes. Those are Havis' books you have there. Not <i>mine</i>, Lord. You shall see I put them to much better use. I run a tight ship, lord, and my profits are considerably higher than his--"</p><p>"Yes," Kinbote said hastily. "Let me--let me look at yours."</p><p>With both relief and difficulty, he managed to put Havis' ledger down, and to pick up what looked like the newest one. The paper was creamier, the leather less stained, and the hand in it much more brisk. Some of the names were new, and then, as he flipped pages, <i>all</i> of the names were. Save Wisp, and save Nutmeg.</p><p>But he was looking for another familiar name. Larkin had said <i>Warekin</i> had been the one to-- although that was <i>inconceivable</i>--</p><p>But they had to sign. That was one innovation Gervaise appeared to have picked up. Gervaise did not bother recording damage, as Havis had; he did not appear to care what condition the omegas came back in, or if they were hurt at all. But he made the clients sign, each man and woman who sampled an omega, who-- </p><p>But the elegant, flowery loops were unmistakable. </p><p>Warekin had enjoyed Nutmeg. Purchased him. Bitten him. Left him in torment.</p><p>And then, impossibly, tried to bring a suit to <i>kill</i> him.</p><p>Kinbote could scarcely choke down his guinea fowl, and not just because the overeager Lady Yfair had somehow managed to poison it along with the rest of the meal.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Nutmeg and Kinbote</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Nutmeg slept without dreaming.</p><p>His alpha had let him nest with Twig and his mother. Their familiar presence answered something in Nutmeg, and it was easy to let his body sink into real rest while he lay there between them. When he blinked awake at last, there were dust motes dancing in the soft morning light, and his face was buried in his mother's long golden hair. At his back, there were soft movements and even softer singing.</p><p>"<i>Ihaveshoes!<br/>
Twighasshoes!</i>"</p><p>Then, impossibly, his brother giggled.</p><p>Nutmeg rolled over. Twig was sitting on the edge of the bed, back to him, waving his long, skinny legs in the air. He did indeed have shoes: the same kind of soft, warm slippers Larkin had once given Nutmeg. He was also in a beautiful golden-yellow oversized silk shirt, one which smelled unmistakably of Larkin. </p><p>"Twig?" Nutmeg asked, uncertain. The last time he'd heard his brother's voice, Twig had been miserable.</p><p>Twig turned around. He still had scratches on his neck from the stockade, and welts on his bare legs, but he moved with grace as he threw his arms around Nutmeg. His voice went insistent, mad with news the likes of which he'd probably never before had the chance to speak. News of <i>alphas</i>, which to an omega like Twig, so newly sprung from the nest, seemed to have a dizzying effect.</p><p>"Nut! Oh, Nut! You're awake! This thing met the prince! Both of them! Larkin touched this thing's neck! Nut, it felt <i>good</i>!"</p><p>Nutmeg returned his embrace fiercely, eyes welling up. Twig was alright. Twig was chattering, and alive, and warm and safe in his arms.</p><p>"Larkin says this thing won't have to fuck any psis anymore, Nut," Twig whispered, practically vibrating. "Larkin called this thing such a nice name: Twig-puss! Twig-<i>puss</i>. Larkin says this thing is very pretty and smart, too! This thing! Pretty and smart! Tried to stay calm and good when talking to him, Nut, for could not be -- be a <i>bitch</i>, like the master says I am. Wanted to be -- to be <i>elegant</i> for him, Nut, oh, he is so <i>handsome</i>--"</p><p>Nutmeg nodded, still blinking back his stupid, relieved tears. He knew well of Larkin's charms. He was surprised that Twig knew. </p><p>"--and he says we are as good as mam, both we things! And that the gelding will stop, even though this thing isn't gelded proper, and he asked this thing about the nest, and the babes, and asked if this thing will let him meet them. Said it sounds like this thing is good with babes--"</p><p>"You are," Nutmeg said, voice muffled by his brother's skinny shoulder.</p><p>"--and that this thing is sweet, that <i>I'm</i> sweet!"</p><p>Despite the wild, young joy in his scent and voice, Twig's shoulders began to shake. Like all omegas, he knew not to dwell on his cruelty and suffering -- for there would be so much of that ahead, as he now likely understood rather better than he had a week ago. And he seemed to take genuine delight in being praised by the kindest and best of their alpha princes. But that didn't stop his happy prattling from giving way to silent, sudden tears.</p><p>"He saw this thing all filthy and ugly," Twig sobbed, shame curling about him, a thick, horrible shame that his brother knew well, and that made Nutmeg's arms tighten around Twig, "--and I feel still so filthy and ugly, even though he says I'm sweet!"</p><p>-</p><p>Twig cried until he slept, and then Nutmeg tucked his legs under the coverlet, and pulled it up to shield him, and gave both him and Wisp a firm kiss. </p><p>Then he padded out of the room.</p><p>He was quite naked aside from his collar. The gorgeous silk-and-lace whore's clothing Tellusin had given him had been taken off, and he was as bare-arsed as ever when he made his way down the tower stair, wincing at the cold stone on his healing feet. He hardly ever noticed his own nakedness, but after wearing his alpha's clothes, and seeing Twig do the same with Larkin's, he <i>felt</i> naked. </p><p>Kinbote's shirt was not so great, so comforting and sheltering as Kinbote's body, or Kinbote's scent. But it had seemed to give Nutmeg almost a divine, mad confidence. When he'd pretended to be more than an omega, it was like, for a moment, he had really <i>been</i> more.</p><p>It was jarring to be just a naked little bitch again. </p><p>But that was precisely what he was.</p><p>When he reached Kinbote's main hallway, he dropped to his hands and knees, and crawled the rest of the way. A few days' training and he knew the movement Tellusin had instructed him in, the sinuous roll of the hips, the slight spreading of the legs to better show his holes. </p><p>He still hated this. He could feel his face flushing with the humiliation of it, such a small and private humiliation to match this small capitulation to his status. He was a claimed bitch, a civilized bitch, a bitch meant to go to Skoll City and make his alpha proud. </p><p>His alpha, who had removed his family from torment. Who could protect Wisp and Twig. Who was willing to do that, and who had been, in his way, kinder than any before to the little brown slut that submitted to him. </p><p>And so -- Nutmeg must crawl.</p><p>And crawl he did, to the great double doors to Kinbote's chambers. These were ajar, and he crawled in quietly, then crossed the thick, soft carpet to where Kinbote was sitting at his desk, writing something out with a fine ink pen.</p><p>Nutmeg stopped by his chair and kneeled there obediently, quite silent still.</p><p>"Alpha?" he said, after a moment.</p><p>Kinbote nearly fell out of his chair. Nutmeg flinched, for he hadn't meant to startle him. It was only that he could never really seem to be a proper omega to his lord. He spoke hurriedly, to cover his gaffe.</p><p>"Thank you, alpha. I -- this thing, I mean -- this thing seeks to thank you--"</p><p><i>You will thank Lupa</i>, Kinbote had said, but Nutmeg didn't thank Her, he thanked Kinbote, for Kinbote was the one who had let him rest with his family, who had ordered Twig to be healed, and Wisp to be healed--</p><p>"--for your kindness, and your patience with this thing. And -- and this thing is <i>quite</i> strong enough to receive his punishment, and would like it, if it pleases you, alpha."</p><p>Kinbote looked down at him, with all the understanding of a man who'd just seen the floor crack open to reveal the underside of the world.</p><p>"I said you could rest," he said, his tone clipped. "What are you doing up? Get back to bed at once."</p><p>Nutmeg shifted uneasily.</p><p>"Aye, alpha, you did so say. But you -- pardon this thing, alpha, pardon my forwardness--"</p><p>"I've pardoned it quite a bit already, so perhaps I might pardon it some more," Kinbote grunted.</p><p>"--you also said, alpha, that this thing was not to ever ask you to go back on your word. Alpha, your word was given: a month of punishment. And an alpha's word must be law--"</p><p>It must be law, Nutmeg reasoned, because what would it mean, for a creature as great, as big and fierce as Kinbote, to go back on his promises? An alpha had to be firm, and his pronouncements had to be clear, absolute, and easy to understand. The other castes had to be able to trust that he would keep his commitments, that when he said something would be done, it would be done. </p><p>There had been real fear and shock in the eyes of those psis, when they'd been presented with the beast that was Kinbote. And the horrible <i>crack</i> when he had snapped his jaws on one still rang in Nutmeg's ears. Not simply because it was so violent, but because it was so sudden, so unexpected.</p><p>For someone so powerful to also be flighty, to switch courses midstream, would be a terrible thing. The only way to have security around a creature like Kinbote, Nutmeg reasoned, was for him to keep his word.</p><p>"--so this thing would see your word and your law done, alpha," Nutmeg decided. "Please. Let this thing help you see it done."</p><p>Kinbote showed no less shock than he had before, and his scent now became a bit peevish.</p><p>"You would help me? I--you are the most obstinate creature-- you don't <i>help</i> give yourself a punishment, Nutmeg! It is a punishment!"</p><p>"Aye," Nutmeg said, nodding obediently. "Aye. May I pick it, Lord? As I did before? Or shall you?"</p><p>"No, you may not pick it!" Kinbote said, sounding scandalized. "You have not been good! You ran away!"</p><p>Nutmeg's heart sank.</p><p>"A figging then," he said, nodding. "Aye, it shall be done, alpha--"</p><p>"I didn't say a figging!" Kinbote growled, exasperated. "I don't even want to punish you today! Wait. Goddess, did you actually like the whipping better than the figging?"</p><p>Nutmeg nodded again, for he had. Until the end, of course, when Kinbote had turned cold and left him. But before then, though it had been brutal and left him so bloody, he had actually felt good, and right, and <i>strong</i>. Kinbote had kissed him, and praised him for something other than just clenching on a cock. </p><p>Kinbote was still looking a bit scandalized. But now he cleared his throat, and straightened up in his chair, sorting his papers into swift piles to clear a space at the desk. Then he stood, and turned the chair sideways.</p><p>"Get up," he told Nutmeg curtly. "Kneel on the seat, face on the desk, arse out. And spread your cheeks. I'll go get Tellusin."</p><p>Nutmeg scrambled to obey. Even though he was full of trepidation, he also felt strangely calm. He supposed he was still doing everything wrong, if Kinbote's general peevishness was any indication, but Kinbote did not seem inclined to be cruel over it. </p><p>Well, aside from having him beaten. But Nutmeg could take that.</p><p>He was lying with his face on the cool marble of the desk, breathing softly and spreading his arsecheeks to bare his soft little pucker, when his alpha returned with a whistling Tellusin.</p><p>"Asked for it, did he?" the sigma practically cackled. "Aye, they do surprise you, omegas, from time to time! Here we were thinking our Nutmeg-cunt was broken in wrong, and now he shows us what a good bitch he can be! It warms the heart, Lord!"</p><p>Kinbote did not seem to want to dignify this with an answer. He only grunted. </p><p>"The belt, then?" Tellusin said.</p><p>"Here," Kinbote said. "And use the end, not the buckle. But he'll take thirty this time."</p><p>Nutmeg breathed in sharp, his trepidation growing. But he kept spreading his arse, even if now he trembled a bit.</p><p>Tremble or no, Tellusin's aim was as excellent as ever. The first hit made Nutmeg shriek, the pain was so bright and sharp.</p><p>"One, alpha," he said, voice small. </p><p>"Ask for another," Kinbote growled out.</p><p>"A-another, please, alpha!"</p><p>The second hit hurt just as much. Nutmeg shook from the force of it, starting to cry, the hurt, raw flesh of his hole going hot with the blow. </p><p>"Two, alpha! Please give me another!"</p><p>By the third, Kinbote had swept his papers to the floor and shifted his considerable bulk onto the desk. He pulled Nutmeg's head onto his strong, firm thigh, and ran his fingers through Nutmeg's hair. Nutmeg gave a relieved little cry, before saying, "Three! Please! More, alpha!"</p><p>Kinbote's big fingers rubbed at his tears. The fourth hit, and then the fifth, and then the sixth were more bearable, and Nutmeg was able to count despite the torment to his raw back hole. </p><p>"M-more!" he begged. "Oh, please, more, alpha!"</p><p>More pets. More of Kinbote caressing him, pressing kisses to his forehead. Each time Nutmeg took a hit, his alpha gave him some additional, small bit of kindness, some firm pat or gentle touch. It dizzied him.</p><p>"Seven! Oh, alpha, please! More!"</p><p>By eight, his arsehole was on fire, but his cunt was deliciously wet from the little pets and caresses. The pain was making him moan brokenly, the pain and the careful attention of his alpha, who was now running a thumb gently over his scent gland. </p><p>"Eight! Thank you! More! Please!"</p><p>"Go faster," Kinbote murmured. "Let's see how fast you can take it, hmm?"</p><p>Nutmeg nodded, overwhelmed, and then the hits rained down, swift and excruciating. He screamed out the count in a ragged voice, unable to think for the pain. His hands curled into his alpha's thighs, clenched on Kinbote's fine trousers, and Kinbote comforted him through it.</p><p>"T-twelve! More!"</p><p>"<i>Good</i>," Kinbote said, firm, his beard gently scratching Nutmeg as he pressed a kiss to the omega's temple.</p><p>"Th-thirteen! Please, more!" </p><p>And on, and on. The hits came so fast that the whole punishment must not have lasted more than ten minutes, and yet by the end Nutmeg was gurgling out the count, body enflamed. His hole was swollen and smarting, the pain terrible, but the rest of him felt alive. His cunt dripped whorish slick on his alpha's desk chair, and when Kinbote pressed a final kiss -- this time to his lips -- he sighed and kissed back.</p><p>"Th-thirty," Nutmeg said, hoarse. "Alpha. Please. <i>More</i>."</p><p>Kinbote chuckled. He sounded almost fond when he next spoke.</p><p>"I said only thirty, omega. That was my word. Tellusin, you may go. But, get the oil from his things, will you? Toss it on the bed for me."</p><p>Then, as the sigma rustled about, obeying him, Kinbote gathered Nutmeg up in his arms. Being moved made Nutmeg tear up -- his arse really did hurt horribly -- but it was all to the good. He was soon enveloped in those big arms, and lifted up with care. As Tellusin left the room, Kinbote carried Nutmeg to the bed and laid him down on it, eyes crinkling as he examined his toy.</p><p>"I enjoyed that," he said, voice deep and quiet.</p><p>Nutmeg had as well. The kissing and pets, anyway. But he wasn't supposed to enjoy it -- it was a punishment. So he stayed silent and just squirmed a bit, spreading his legs. Trying to endure his burning arse and building need.</p><p>Kinbote grinned. It was the wicked, bright, flashing grin he had had at the trial, the one that was gone very fast.</p><p>"I'm sure Tellusin has told you to use your words, Nutmeg."</p><p>Nutmeg flushed.</p><p>It was -- it was somehow humiliating to say it, to verbalize his place. It was humiliating because it forced him to face it. It was like running headfirst and smacking right into the wall of what a <i>slut</i> he was.</p><p>"Alpha," he rasped out, licking his dry lips and unable to meet Kinbote's eyes. His gaze fell on the vial of oil, and he realized what that was for. What his alpha wanted. "Alpha..."</p><p>"Yes?" Kinbote said, ever-patient.</p><p>Nutmeg breathed out, then in, then out again. Steadying himself. Then he shakily rolled over, lifting himself onto his hands and knees in one swift movement. His breasts jiggled, heavy and bothersome, and he planted his face in the soft sheets and spread his arse again.</p><p>"Alpha," he said, voice muffled by the sheets, "Thank you for such a good punishment. Now that you've prepared it, may this bitch please give you his back hole?"</p><p>In answer, his alpha's scent became a <i>wave</i> of satisfaction. Of raw, dominating pleasure. Peacock-proud, and certain, and absolutely glorious in its naked desire for Nutmeg. Nutmeg moaned softly, enjoying the scent, as he heard the pop of the flask being opened. Kinbote's big fingers pressed into his sore arsehole, carefully oiling up the swollen rim. </p><p>It hurt. But Nutmeg took it, relaxing into the touch. Kinbote pushed inside him, stretching him a bit. There came the rustle of trousers undone, and then some slick sounds -- his lordship stroking the oil over his big, wonderful cock.</p><p>When he pressed in, the burn was nearly as bad as a figging. Nutmeg's arsehole was puffy, hot, and sensitive. He felt every inch of that slow first thrust, the hot flesh forcing in past his tight ring. Nutmeg whimpered. He'd never felt an arse-fuck like this. His hole was on fire, every little part of him widening around the fat cockhead, the slick wet throb of prick hollowing him out. His walls spasmed on it as his eyes blurred up with tears. Painful as it was, it was so <i>big</i> and <i>filling</i> he almost couldn't breathe. His cunt dripped and twitched on nothing, damp bitch-slick fouling up the sheets. </p><p>Kinbote rubbed his back, still going so slow. He fed Nutmeg more, and more, the huge cock slick enough to create an easy stretch once it was past his swollen pucker. That tight vise was bruised and <i>tingling</i> with pain, but his deeper hole was rubbed open, stretched and sated. Nutmeg could barely hear his cries around the delighted rub of it, steady, pulsing in his arse. He couldn't think. When Kinbote really started to move, he nearly blacked out from sensation.</p><p>Kinbote was going slow. Slower than normal. But it almost didn't matter. Beneath his weight, Nutmeg was mashed into the sheets, utterly dominated. Milk squeezed from his heavy tits, making him cry out louder, the relief of loosing it was so intense. And his whole back channel was just new nerves, wakened by that fat, throbbing cock, sliding into him until the huge ballsack slapped his arse. So deep Nutmeg made a low, guttural sound, feeling every stroke rub his soft, giving walls, open him up.</p><p>"That's it," Kinbote grunted, rubbing his back, soothing it, the calloused palm working circles into him, keeping him steady. "That's it. You're doing well. Take it."</p><p>Nutmeg had no choice, but it was <i>torture</i>. His cunt was tacky and damp, overlooked and needy, and when Kinbote began to stroke along the wet slit he seized up. Keened, drooling into the sheets. Kinbote's fingers rubbed him off, getting him messy. The rough pads played his little bead, his oversensitive cockflesh, and he came on the hands of his alpha, with a cock in his hurt arse and his tits dripping milk. The spasm this time was blinding, like too much of him was burning up to contain his want. Kinbote fucked him through it, and only then did he speed up. </p><p>Now his thrusts were harsh, without mercy. He pummeled Nutmeg into the sheets, and Nutmeg, reeling from his orgasm, curled his fingers in the silken fabric to try and hang on. He was wailing, whole body pressed onto his milky, messy tits, which were pressed into the bed. He could smell his own lust in the air, and his alpha's, a dizzying scent that overtook him. The final thrust was overweening, Kinbote's knot locking in so <i>snug</i> and <i>cocksure</i>, forced past his puffy pucker. Kinbote groaned as the swollen mass burned inside Nutmeg, the deep hilt of his enormous prick beginning to pump Nutmeg's guts. The filthy, heady scent of his cum made Nutmeg gasp, and with another groan Kinbote rolled them over, pulling Nutmeg upright to sit on his prick, impaled on the knot.</p><p>Nutmeg could barely make a noise. He pulsed around the knot, dazed, as his alpha pulled him backwards into an embrace. Hot ropes of cum were filling him.  His toes were curling. </p><p>Kinbote's huge, well-muscled arms encircled him. So did his alpha's good mood, warm and secure and <i>safe</i>. The big, scarred hands flicked one of Nutmeg's nipples, and Nutmeg hiccuped from the touch.</p><p>"Want to be milked?" Kinbote asked, and Nutmeg could practically <i>feel</i> the grin pressed into his hair.</p><p>"Yes!" Nutmeg said at once, blinking furiously, still dizzy from the fuck, but very interested.</p><p>Kinbote's hands circled his nips. They were rubbed raw from his whole-body fuck into the sheets, pearled with fat beads of milk at the tips. Kinbote gave two good tugs before the spray really got going, sweet white dribbling out, and Nutmeg cried out, mind wiped blank again. The painful ever-tightness of his tits was going, and the release hit him with a slam. He didn't even care that he was sweaty, messy, spraying from his breasts. He came a second time, his alpha's sticky milk slut, wriggling on that fat knot and sobbing out his delight.</p><p>-</p><p>When the knot went down, Kinbote called for the sheets to be changed and lunch to be served, and then carried Nutmeg to the bathroom.</p><p>He would have liked to stay in bed. But it was a ruin. Milk, Nutmeg's wet, his cum, which had dribbled out of the boy's ruined, gaping arsehole as he'd pulled his cock out, leaving Nutmeg wincing and making those low, hungry noises he had. </p><p>He trembled in Kinbote's arms. His own arms were wound about his alpha's neck, his head in the crook of Kinbote's shoulder. He was the picture of an omega who had been fucked into submission. Except that his hips twitched, legs hooked around his alpha, cunt pressing wet and sloppy against Kinbote's shirt, which was just as ruined as the sheets were.</p><p><i>Goddess,</i> Kinbote realized, with a grin. <i>My omega is insatiable.</i></p><p>He laid Nutmeg in the tub, surveying him. Kinbote had left bruises on his lovely breasts, and along his hips. But the boy didn't seem to notice, mouthing at Kinbote's now-soft prick, hanging there between his legs.</p><p>"A-alpha, let me clean you," Nutmeg mumbled, reaching for it. "Y-your lovely <i>cock</i>--"</p><p>That cock absolutely enjoyed the compliment, because it couldn't help but twitch alive a bit. But Kinbote swallowed down the spike of pleasure, for he wanted to look the boy over. Nutmeg was physically more fragile than he was. All omegas were, and the wreck of the boy Twig had brought that lesson home in a frightening way. Some ten hours, it had taken Ataleia to mend the boy. And, after his uneasy perusal of Gervaise's records, all Kinbote could think of was omegas returning damaged, omegas whose names dropped from the records without fanfare.</p><p>"Not now," he told Nutmeg gruffly, batting the boy's hand away. Nutmeg actually looked a bit hurt by this. Kinbote, who had not milked him completely dry just yet, took one full, pretty tit, and guided the boy's head down.</p><p>"Suckle yourself," he said gruffly. "You must be hungry yet."</p><p>Nutmeg looked shocked and overwhelmed, as if such a thought had never occurred to him as that he might taste his own milk. He had to twist a bit to get the nipple in his mouth, and Kinbote used this time to help him up onto unsteady legs, turning him over and having him lean against the rim of the tub with his arse out. Nutmeg seemed to catch sight of himself in the mirror -- hair mussed, thighs sticky with his alpha's cum, sucking his own tit -- and gave a little moan that sounded surprisingly pleased and interested.</p><p>Kinbote, meanwhile, checked the boy for major injuries. His arsehole wasn't torn, but was a ruined mess, somehow at once loose and blood-swollen. Kinbote would have 'Leia tighten it and the boy apply some salve. In the meantime, Kinbote soaped it hastily, and Nutmeg pressed back into his hands, beautifully trusting, like he expected and wanted another fuck. </p><p><i>Forget insatiable</i>, Kinbote decided, heart twinging. <i>He's finally open to this.</i></p><p>Kinbote just kept soaping him up. His omega's thighs were bruised, but only just. Nutmeg crooned a bit as his alpha rubbed down his long, shaking legs, reacting to the touch with obvious pleasure. Kinbote then returned to do his hips, his arse cheeks, the graceful line of his pretty back. Just being touched like this made Nutmeg's eyes grow warmer in the mirror, his lithe form unbend a bit. When Kinbote rubbed the washcloth over his cunt he was completely relaxed, shaking his hips, delighting in the feel.</p><p>"I could have 'Leia tighten you here," Kinbote managed to say, because he had to say <i>something</i>, or else he would be hugging this omega to himself and kissing him completely senseless, over something as stupid as how wonderful it was to see Nutmeg <i>relax</i>.</p><p>"She would use a saline solution," he continued, hoarse. "Because it would be a punishment. You wouldn't be meant to like it, Nutmeg. It would get your cunt-flaps puffy as your arsehole, so swollen they'd rub together everywhere you went, hurting and sore and hungry, and so puffy that your hole would close up. Then I'd fuck you like that, with your cunt-lips clammed up tight and sensitive--"</p><p>Nutmeg moaned around his own tit. He fucked down, into Kinbote's hands, almost roughly. His back quivered.</p><p>"A-alpha," Nutmeg mumbled, eyes very bright now. “N-no, please—“</p><p>But his cunt spasmed on Kinbote’s fingers. And he’d begun to fuck back his hips. </p><p>“W-would you kiss me, alpha?” Nutmeg mumbled, working his needy hole back onto Kinbote’s hands. “Would you hold this thing while you fucked him so sore?”</p><p>Lupa. Kinbote was going to come all over the fucking tub now. Hold him? He’d cover him entirely. Press him close and bruise his mouth with kisses until this perfect creature was coming in his arms. </p><p>“As much as you need me to,” Kinbote barked out. </p><p>Nutmeg, impossibly, relaxed again, hips still shaking, pretty face going almost satisfied. </p><p>"Alpha, do you <i>promise</i>?"</p><p>-</p><p>Later, when they were clean, they ate.</p><p>Kinbote was quite naked now, and Nutmeg was not, which was so absurd it was almost charming. Kinbote had an instinctive, atavistic comfort with his own nudity, really, and if not for propriety would have very happily been naked more often. While Nutmeg had begged to be wrapped in his discarded, sweat-soaked shirt.</p><p>As that was disgusting, Kinbote had refused, slapping him lightly on the arse.</p><p>"I just bathed you. Would you see my hard work and care fall by the wayside, omega?"</p><p>But he let the boy crawl into his formal officer's jacket: that sturdy wool braided with the purple-and-gold insignias of Skoll City. The purple always rendered Kinbote rather sallow; on Nutmeg, the colors were charming. His eyes were even more strikingly yellow by contrast, and his pale brown skin warmed by the brilliant violet of the current ruling house. </p><p>"Alpha, should I care for you now?" Nutmeg asked him boldly, reaching for his cock. But Kinbote waved him off again. He pulled the boy into his lap at the low dining table by the paneled triple-window, so Nutmeg was snug against him.</p><p>"You'll eat with me properly today," Kinbote decided.</p><p>It was fare similar to what he'd had with Larkin. Simple, but rich and well-prepared and filling. For the past week or so, Nutmeg had been taking nothing but a concoction of butterfat, sugar, water, and stewed white field peas, a cream Tellusin and Ingwret had insisted was all the rage in Skoll to fatten up the most skeletal brothel-os. But Ataleia had made brief noises about nutrition, and Kinbote had always found her medical counsel sound. He planned now to start introducing Nutmeg to real food, to add a greater vigor to the boy, now that his arse was more plump and his ribs far less visible.</p><p>Besides, there was something ludicrously pleasing about feeding his omega from his hand. Nutmeg was wide-eyed but obedient, opening up on command, sucking after Kinbote's fingers with a lewd but delicious pop after each bite. The peek of his brown nipples beneath the jacket was wonderful, and he melted whenever Kinbote snuck his free hand underneath to massage the pretty breasts, whenever Kinbote gently nipped his neck and made him squirm. Kinbote felt once more the eager, honest pride of doing something right, making this boy sit patiently, as an omega should, making Nutmeg's bizarrely clever little mind still long enough to be quiet, sated, petted, and fed. Nutmeg had settled into a scent so calm by now that Kinbote felt, for once, like a <i>proper</i> alpha, a protector and a caretaker, worthy of the place Lupa had gifted him with. </p><p>Of course, once Nutmeg had polished off a few soft rolls of yellow bread, the blandest thing on the menu, Kinbote learned rather suddenly that the boy was <i>picky</i>.</p><p>The spiced goat did him in. Nutmeg choked on it, making a near-comical little face, and spat it clear across the table.</p><p>Kinbote blinked, momentarily stunned.</p><p>"Omega!" he snapped, once he'd gathered himself.</p><p>Nutmeg was still gagging.</p><p>"Why?" he said, his eyes huge as saucers, his scent going betrayed. "What--alpha, it <i>bites</i>! Am I being punished again?"</p><p>"Of course not!" Kinbote snapped. "It's stewed goat, Nutmeg, for Lupa's sake. It has peppers, onions, the usual sorts of things--"</p><p>"It tastes too much," Nutmeg mumbled, gagging a bit. "Must this thing eat it? Alpha, please--"</p><p>And so it went with the sausages, also heavily spiced, and the tart, heavy taste of the rich fig pudding. Anything with garlic appalled Nutmeg, and river trout cooked in lemon sent him into absolute seizures of refusal, gagging and crying and overwhelmed ("Why?" seemed to be Nutmeg's only clear response to the taste of bitter citrus. "Alpha, <i>why</i>?" as if Kinbote could somehow be trusted to understand Lupa's aims in permitting the existence of such a thing as a lemon). The boy had tastes so bland that anything remotely spicy, sour, or bitter left him making faces and wailing. He could abide a bit of salt, but only a bit. </p><p>"You were just whipped on your <i>arsehole</i>," an offended Kinbote ground out. "It cannot be so much worse to have you expand your palate a bit. That -- what you just spit out. That had nutmeg in it. You're fucking named after a spice, and a mild one at that, and you can't even eat it?"</p><p>Nutmeg looked horrifically betrayed.</p><p>"It's too much," he said, rubbing at his wet eyes. "This thing is sorry, alpha. The meat smells so good, and the cakes, but this thing has never had food like this..."</p><p>Abruptly, Kinbote felt ashamed. He remembered his first bite of stewed goat. Of course, he'd enjoyed it, but he had not been raised eating the barest slop, starved so much his ribs poked out.</p><p>Gervaise was not Havis. Gervaise had let the omegas in his charge become meagre, hollow-faced, and starving. Likely their daily meals were no better than the fucking pea mash Nutmeg had been eating for a week, and even that had seemed to overwhelm the boy's taste buds at first.</p><p>Kinbote rubbed his skinny back beneath the jacket.</p><p>"Why am I named after that?" Nutmeg asked Kinbote, or possibly asked the heavens, shoulders shaking. "I don't taste like that. This thing tastes like regular old cunt-slime, alpha--"</p><p>Kinbote's turn to choke now. Lupa's teats. Nutmeg would have to be taught how to make polite lunch conversation, as well as how to actually eat properly. </p><p>"Here," he said hastily, seizing on an idea. Ingwret had brought him a cup of expensive chocolate, imported from the palm-lands across the ocean. Actually, this had been one of the gifts he'd brought Warekin, a valuable find liberated from a snow leopard merchant caravan, but recently he'd decided that Warekin could go fuck himself, so now Kinbote got to enjoy sweetened chocolate with his meals. His upsilon knew that he liked it leavened with a great deal of sugar and cinnamon, and this, he realized with some relief, might also make it taste acceptable to Nutmeg.</p><p>He dipped a finger in the cup and brought it to the boy's lips. Nutmeg parted them, still rubbing at his eyes. He suckled, but with less open trust than before, eyelashes blinking furiously.</p><p>"Well?" Kinbote said, when he'd swallowed.</p><p>Nutmeg shrugged.</p><p><i>He is impossible,</i> Kinbote decided.</p><p>How could one not enjoy <i>chocolate</i>?</p><p>But maybe it wasn't sweet enough. On impulse, Kinbote pulled aside one shoulder of the boy's jacket, tucking the cup under his nipple. Nutmeg had been milked a fair bit, but he should have more in him. Kinbote squeezed his own sweet honey-milk into the cup, four good drags of it, as Nutmeg squirmed and began to pant.</p><p>"You taste a fair bit better than just like cunt-slime," Kinbote chided. "Fucking <i>Sacred Hunt</i>. Did you not just sample yourself? Here, we'll make this so sweet you'll enjoy it."</p><p>Seizing the silver chocolate spoon left abandoned on the tablecloth, he stirred the milk in, as Nutmeg watched with open curiosity. The result was a thick pale brown, only a few shades darker than his omega. Kinbote sampled it first, and was immediately taken. It was lush but not so striking on the tongue, and the scent of it was the barest, softest spice of his omega.</p><p>When he pressed the cup to Nutmeg's lips, the boy drank hesitantly at first. Then greedily. His skinny hands reached up to clasp the cup, and then he was drinking with abandon, finally pleased with the meal. When he'd drunk the whole thick-sweet brew, his little pink tongue darted out and licked the cup until it gleamed, his eyes closed in bliss.</p><p>"There," Kinbote said, feeling a surge of fondness again. "Better?"</p><p>"Aye, alpha," Nutmeg said, licking his pretty lips. "Thank you."</p><p>"You're welcome," Kinbote said, with that surge of pride in his chest again. He took the cup from Nutmeg and set it down, then lifted the boy closer into his lap, brushing aside his damp hair. He leaned in, ready to kiss him silly, to enjoy tasting chocolate and milk and the mildest of spices on his tongue--</p><p>"Alpha?" Nutmeg asked, absolutely ruining the moment. "Alpha, will you claim Twig? Or will Prince Larkin?"</p><p>The very last thing Kinbote wanted to discuss in this moment -- this perfect moment, after an excellent fucking and the chance to wash and spoil the boy, his omega, his perfect little Nutmeg -- was Larkin. He bit back a groan.</p><p>"Figured that out, did you?"</p><p>Nutmeg blinked.</p><p>"My Twig is very good, lord. He would be a good omega to any alpha, this thing swears it. <i>Much</i> more obedient than me, and past ready for a claiming. Has survived some harsh use, and will please any alpha well no matter how he is fucked, but is so sweet, alpha! Could be good for this -- this gentle treatment, and <i>I</i> could take the rough. So if you wanted to claim him as well, alpha--"</p><p>"What? No. Larkin can protect him," Kinbote said. "When we go to Skoll. And I cannot--"</p><p>Nutmeg said, obstinate and absolute, "Please, alpha. Please. I want to go with Twig. And mam. Do not want to leave them. If you claimed them, alpha, if we all belonged to <i>you</i>, could be with my family--"</p><p>The pride in Kinbote's chest deflated. With just those few words, he suddenly felt wrung out and hollow.</p><p>Amazingly, Nutmeg picked up on it, nose wrinkling at the abrupt switch in his alpha's mood. He snapped his mouth shut. With a fearful glance into Kinbote's eyes, he brought up a hand and patted Kinbote's scarred arm, lightly, as if trying to soothe him.</p><p>"I--this thing has said something wrong again. Like before. This thing is sorry. Please, alpha, tell me what I said wrong, what I've done to ruin your happiness--"</p><p>Kinbote ignored that request. Instead he said, carefully, "I cannot claim anyone but you, Nutmeg. One can't claim more than one omega in a lifetime, you know."</p><p>Nutmeg’s face twisted in confusion. </p><p>"What?" he cried. "Why? That makes no sense!"</p><p>It...it didn't. Kinbote had to allow that it didn't. Alphas were the highest caste, and were restricted in nothing else. Why should they be limited in the number of omegas they might wish to make into willing fuckpets? </p><p>But it was so. Somehow, the laws of nature, of Lupa, had made it so. An alpha could not claim more than one, and, in fact, once they claimed one, it was generally observed that any other fucks just wouldn't please them as they should. Kinbote had always assumed this was half-rumor, half-superstition, not bald fact. But now, feeling the light-boned boy in his arms, the way Nutmeg just <i>fit</i>, he knew that it was absolutely true.</p><p>"I think," he said, reasoning it out, "This is part of why so many rogues do what was done to you at first. Bite your kind, to get you wanting. And then leave before completing the claim. Before being claimed in turn. Because, Nutmeg, we <i>are</i>. I've claimed you, but you claimed me as well. I cannot -- I am, in fact, completely opposed, to taking another.</p><p>"But I have a mentor, a man I trust, who serves on the War Council with me in Skoll. He is generous, fair, and a brilliant soldier. I was going to make him a present of your mother once Wisp recovered, so that, at least, Wisp and you could be close, and you would not be alone in a new city."</p><p>Nutmeg bit his lip.</p><p>"But then mam would be leaving our Twig," he pointed out. "Our Twig, he needs mam right now, is all over with fright for what was done to him, and right when he needs us, mam and I would be leaving him--"</p><p>"I know," Kinbote said. </p><p>He'd conceived of the whole Wisp plan before he'd known about Twig. It had seemed simple and elegant, rearranging Wisp's life as before he'd never been permitted to. Honoring his word to Wisp that he would cure his son of the half-claim, while also arranging things so that Wisp would be likewise cared for, would be moved to a cosmopolitan household where he would be looked after, his illnesses actually tended instead of ignored. Kinbote had completed the letter to his mentor this morning. It was sitting there on the carpet with his other unsent missives. The ink had likely only just dried.</p><p>But great Goddess, who was <i>he</i> to decide which of Wisp's children Wisp should be with?</p><p>Who was he to separate an omega from their child? </p><p>It was done every day, in the brothels and breeding mills. It had been done before in this very keep, a fact Kinbote knew all too well. But to Kinbote it suddenly felt like villainy.</p><p>"We'll wake him soon," he managed to say. "Ataleia says he is ready. His insides are healed, and he's stronger. When he wakes, I--we can put the choice to <i>Wisp</i>, aye? Let him tell us where he would go. I will honor his choice, Nutmeg, I swear it."</p><p>Though it would be an impossible, brutal one. To leave a child like Twig, fragile from a fresh series of horrific assaults. Or to stay, and miss out on the escape, the kinder, better life Kinbote had planned out for Wisp and his get--</p><p>"You would do that?" Nutmeg was asking, eyes wet. "Respect the choice of an omega?"</p><p>Kinbote nodded.</p><p>"I swear it. And you should know, for the others. The other omegas. That Bonbon--"</p><p>"Do you know who he is, lord?" Nutmeg asked, low, and Kinbote's heart flopped.</p><p>Nearly <i>stopped</i>.</p><p>But the boy only said, "Is the child of one Clasp, alpha, who loved you. Who you loved. They told this thing so, that you did take him as your staff omega. Bonbon is loving too, aye, and the rest. This thing's family! They are not so dirty, pathetic, and low as people say! They are good people, lord, but are worked too hard--"</p><p>Now his voice was rising, and passionate color was coming into his face. His insistence was not appropriate to his caste, but Kinbote was too relieved to care.</p><p>"Larkin has sworn he'll help them," he told Nutmeg, throat thick with an emotion he didn't want to face. He gathered the boy close and kissed him quiet, kissed him from a place of simply needing to feel the soft lips, the giving little comfort.</p><p>"Larkin won't let them suffer," Kinbote murmured. "I won't let him let them. You must -- you must trust that I can do this for you and your people, Nutmeg."</p><p>-</p><p>They kissed until their lips were bruised, and then they kissed some more.</p><p>Unlike with the food and the bathing, this was not something Kinbote was doing for the omega. This was not even really initiated by Kinbote. It was clear to him that Nutmeg was kissing him, and arching in his arms for <i>him</i>. The boy could smell the new disquiet on Kinbote, though he didn't know the reason, and was doing his best to comfort his alpha. The action was so pure and thoughtful that Kinbote was scarcely sure what to do with himself. Before, he'd been an alpha-true, confident and mighty. Now he felt like a clumsy bear, pawing at Nutmeg as he licked and kissed and tasted, and felt so blessedly not alone that he could have cried.</p><p>Then Larkin skidded into the room.</p><p>The mood changed, the scent changed: an alpha-intruding. Kinbote had Nutmeg lain on the cushions and was licking his scent gland, the boy moaning encouragement and rubbing Kinbote's black hair, legs wrapped around Kinbote's midsection, wet cunt a new invitation. </p><p>Larkin cried out, clearly seeing none of this, "He's dead! They found him dead in his own vomit this morning, the absolute pissant, just as plann-- oh. Er."</p><p>Kinbote threw his head back, confused and annoyed.</p><p>"Larkin!" he growled.</p><p>Larkin was fully dressed, and looked smug to find his brother naked. He was also casually eating an apple, for some reason. It made a loud crunch as he took in the sight of Kinbote on the verge of a proper, rutting cunt-fuck.</p><p>"I mean, Gervaise has -- to my enormous shock, and yours, because we of course know nothing about the matter--" he said brightly, and unconvincingly, "Expired of unknown causes! Everyone is very sad! Father could probably use our assistance in appointing a new omega master right now, but you should put some trousers on first, probably. I think Lady Yfair assumes you died too, for some reason. She sent me a fruit basket for mourning. I've had Ingwret test it and it isn't poisoned at all, so I think she likes me--"</p><p>Nutmeg was making odd, shocked little noises. Kinbote dared to meet his eyes, and had the sudden, sure awareness that his omega was not stupid. His omega was smart. His omega looked to fully comprehend what might have happened to Gervaise.</p><p>"--which is a huge relief, since I do like her. She's a sweet old woman--"</p><p>"Larkin, <i>get out</i>!" Kinbote growled, and in response his brother burst into laughter, and fled, crying, "What a morning of terrible surprises! Get your trousers on, Kinbote!"</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. Guilt</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Kinbote in fact had no desire to speak to Raskin.</p><p>Not that morning. Not for a good long while. Not so long as they lived in the world they lived in, Lupa's world with Lupa's laws, wherein Raskin was his father, his pack, the man he had trusted.</p><p>Trusted to look after them. The omegas of Havis' tower.</p><p><i>Omegas aren't pack!</i> Raskin had roared, whipping him after Kinshasha's death, and Kinbote had heard and internalized and listened. Obeyed. His father, his sire, the man who had blessed him with their great legacy, with the worthiest of caste-identities, was to be thanked and obeyed. </p><p>It had been easy to obey him. For Raskin had promised his much smaller self, long ago, that even if they were not pack, the omegas would be looked after. They would not be killed, or hunted for sport, as they were in other keeps. So long as Kinbote was a proper alpha, an excellent example of an alpha, an honor to the clan name, the omegas also would not be mutilated or tortured, branded like animals, or left to rot in their own filth, as they were on the streets of Skoll City. Raskin had always had a reputation for generosity, and a good alpha's reputation was like his word: others were supposed to be able to trust in it.</p><p>Kinbote had trusted. But he'd been wrong.</p><p><i>What happened?</i> he thought wildly, as he and Larkin hurried to their father's quarters. <i>What changed?</i></p><p>But he knew what. Drink. Mushroom. Food and sex, and possibly, as Warekin insisted, old age and senility. Raskin had aged into an addict, as if drug and drink could help him reject the pitfalls of his unwinding mind, and addicts were neither trustworthy nor predictable. </p><p>So Kinbote had dressed hastily and left Nutmeg in his bed, telling Scawmin to bring the boy more chocolate if he liked. He would have liked to stay and lick it off the omega's firm brown thighs, but they had to reach Raskin before Warekin did.</p><p>Kinbote wasn't sure how his next-eldest brother was involved in the mess he'd stumbled on between Nutmeg, Wisp, and Gervaise, but he was sure Warekin was involved far more deeply than he'd initially let on. He had been the one to bite Nutmeg. Hurt him like that. And then, he'd demanded the boy be killed. The idea was so horribly precise, so designed to cover up the reality of neat, prim, caste-proud Ware succumbing to omega temptation, that Kinbote was now fully convinced Nutmeg's proposed death was Warekin's idea. Not Gervaise's.</p><p>"Well, and Gervaise could have killed him accidentally and gotten away with it!" Larkin was muttering, as they raced through the hallways. "Twig told me! There was a sick little thing called Cherry--"</p><p>Red hair, and a shy smile. The name struck Kinbote like a lance. He flinched, but Larkin didn't notice.</p><p>"--who died from untreated illness. Another poor soul had his throat slit for falling sick -- apparently father thought it would be a <i>mercy</i>, he was so unwell. Tartmouse or something--"</p><p>"Titmouse!" Kinbote barked out.</p><p>Goddess. Goddess, why was his chest so tight? Why were his fingernails claws, and why did his breath come so hot and heavy, animal, as if he were not in his home, but on a battlefield, not an alpha walking his own keep halls, but a battered soldier with too many men fallen to count?</p><p>"No, I'm quite sure it was Tartmouse," Larkin said, hurrying ahead. "Either way. This idea that it had to be a great, showy death, a sort of sacrifice to Lupa -- you must see that's all Ware! That's his style! He probably proposed the whole idea to his pet delta!"</p><p>Kinbote agreed. But he wished he didn't. He wished he had not seen Ware's name written in the ledger, wished he could see Ware as the sensitive, good companion of his youth, as his <i>brother</i>. But Ware, like Raskin, was instead a betrayal.</p><p>"Cheat!" Larkin was fuming, as they reached their father's door. He turned to Kinbote then, still muttering offenses over Warekin. "A snake! Not fit to be an alph-- Oh. Kinbote. Are you alright?"</p><p>"Yes," Kinbote managed, with difficulty. He tried to settle his scent. School his face blank, as if he were about to enter an audience with King Morall-ora-alpha, and not merely going to try and wrangle his deceitful country squire of a father. "I am well. I--it's no matter, Larkin. I'm glad I have you."</p><p>Larkin looked impossibly touched by this. This, in turn, somehow seemed to make things marginally better. Kinbote <i>was</i> glad to have him. One brother, one member of his pack, who was not unnecessarily depraved or cruel just because he could be.</p><p>That was worth something. Kinbote had come home assuming he would see Larkin briefly, get to know him no better than he did through his letters, and depart. But instead he had found an ally. A young and untested one. But still a true, honest packmate, a boy who would one day be a fine alpha, who was already the finest alpha Kinbote could name in his own immediate family.</p><p>"It will all be alright," Larkin said, with absolutely no evidence beyond his own conviction to back this up. "Father has to listen to the both of us. Thank Lupa you're here, in any case, since he hardly ever listens to just me. That's why I mostly do what I please and keep him out of it, but if Ware has his fingers in this, we <i>should</i> get father's approval before installing a new omega master. Warekin can't override father!"</p><p>Then he turned again, and pushed open the door to the great antechamber, with the dusty throne Raskin never used.</p><p>Only Raskin was on it. And he was not alone. Warekin had beaten them to an audience, and was smiling broadly, waving a sheath of papers about.</p><p>"And so, with your leave to write Lord Nabrin, I can court the Lady Ebrinne--"</p><p>Raskin grunted. His hair was mussed, his eyes bloodshot, and his tunic stained. His trousers were open, the dirty bulge of his prick half-visible. Today he seemed not even able to slump up, and Kinbote could not think how Warekin had even managed to get him out of bed.</p><p>Ware, by contrast, was handsome as always. He wore his scarlet priest robes over a trim, cream-colored suit, cut tight to flatter. His eyes danced as he turned to his brothers.</p><p>"Excellent news," he practically purred. "I have--"</p><p>"Heard?" Larkin cut in, voice cool and satisfied. "Gervaise is dead. I'd say it is excellent news."</p><p>For someone who had conspired with the Master of Omegas, Warekin did not even blink. He merely seemed confused.</p><p>"What? Oh, Larkin, who cares about your little feuds with the lower castes? This is real news, news of the bonds we might form with another clan--"</p><p>"My little <i>feud</i>?" Larkin interrupted, squaring his impressive young shoulders. "The one you orchestrated, you mean--"</p><p>"Enough!" grunted Raskin.</p><p>They all looked to their father. He massaged his temples, crooked mouth working itself as if he longed to be chewing on something. </p><p>"Kinbote," he said, after a few moments. "Is it true? Gervaise? Dead?"</p><p>"Aye," Kinbote said, stepping forwards. He burned with indignation at Ware quite as much as Larkin did, but he did not wish to show it so cleanly. Not while he was still so uncertain about where Warekin stood. Something was off. Something did not match up. He would not reveal that he knew Warekin had featured in some sort of deception involving Nutmeg, until he could suss out <i>why</i>, and how far it ran.</p><p>So now he inclined his head, and said, bland: "I'm very happy for you, brother. I had heard you wished to court Ebrinne-brin-alpha--"</p><p>He'd done his best to aid Warekin there, actually, by interceding with the Brin clan. Now, the simple joy of assisting his brother tasted like ash to him, but he didn't let that show.</p><p>"--she is accomplished, beautiful, and the toast of Skoll. You would make a handsome match with her."</p><p>Warekin smiled. It was all teeth. Not the smile of his youth, silly and open, but the smile he'd donned after the death of the Lady Kinshasha. Poised and cold. </p><p>"Let it be a handsome match for the clan, brother. To fill the void left by our departed mother, and Uskind, and make clear that we abide most strictly by the boundaries of caste, whatever rumors may fly," he declared, bold as a prophet. "But what is this about Gervaise? Dead? No matter, there are two or three deltas who might take charge of the keep-whores--"</p><p>"No!" Larkin cut in now. "I'm the one that knows the keep, father, and I know who should--"</p><p>Warekin rolled his eyes and tossed his glorious hair. </p><p>"Most of the deltas are loyal to me, and l know them well. I can select the replacement--"</p><p>"Why should you?" Larkin cried. "You only cleave to the deltas because they're the stodgiest of the castes! Boring, mushroom-eating, half them prattling about how they are so-called <i>artistes</i>--"</p><p>"Some of them really make the most delightful watercolors. I'm so sorry you hate art!" Warekin snapped.</p><p>"<i>Enough!</i>" snapped their father again. </p><p>A brief silence fell, which Kinbote now strode forward to fill.</p><p>"Larkin should choose," he said at once. "Larkin knows the keep, and he and I have been discussing--"</p><p>But Raskin ran hot and cold. He cracked one beady eye open, snorting, and ran his tongue over his pale gums.</p><p>"You aren't here any more than once or twice a <i>decade</i>," he told Kinbote severely. "Carousing about Skoll! Enjoying your little battles! And Larkin thinks he runs the keep--"</p><p>"--because I do run it," Larkin muttered, which did not help their cause in the slightest, though he had the grace to flush when Kinbote shot him a warning look.</p><p>"--but he doesn't! I bloody do!" Raskin huffed out. "It is our deltas who have traditionally been posted as the masters of the omegas, to see inside their little squirrelly nests, keep the little bitches on their toes! And Warekin knows the deltas best--"</p><p>Warekin preened.</p><p>"No, Larkin gets to have his little hunts, and you your trials and voyages to Lupa-knows-fucking-where--"</p><p>Now Kinbote was starting to get annoyed.</p><p>"Where the king, our joint lord, so sends me! For Goddess' sake, father!"</p><p>"And whoever looks after the little bitches is hardly a great matter! You will let your brother have this! He knows the deltas, and betas and gammas are above training m'little fuckpets! But it has to be a lord, a person with discretion..."</p><p>Raskin trailed off, an odd light coming into his eyes.</p><p>"Should history repeat itself," Warekin said now, quite low. </p><p>Kinbote stiffened. Larkin merely looked confused. But the keep leader nodded on his throne, grunting once more to show agreement.</p><p>"Warekin chooses," he said.</p><p>Larkin's cry of dismay echoed the roaring anger and upset in Kinbote's mind, but Warekin, the <i>rat</i>, merely saluted.</p><p>"What a lovely chance to do you honor, father," he said, with a grin. "I shall pick one <i>truly</i> committed to keeping the little sluts in their place, never fear. Well! I'm off to write to Ebrinne."</p><p>And then he was turning on his heel and retreating, smug, puffed-up with a win they had, stupidly, practically handed to him. Larkin seemed unable to take this, and darted after him, shouting. Raskin watched this. He seemed unimpressed.</p><p>"Doesn't even say g'bye," he grunted. "Larkin's a trying boy. You all are. Best one was Uskind, and he's bloody dead."</p><p>Kinbote breathed in. Out. Didn't react. Why should he react? He heard this nonsense every time he came home.</p><p>"Goodbye, then, father. I shall say it because Larkin didn't," he said tightly, already thinking ahead, thinking of how he could fix this. He had to fix this somehow.</p><p>"Oh no," Raskin said, as he turned to go.</p><p>Kinbote stopped. Looked up at the old man. Raskin's bulk was settled in the throne now, the flaccid skin draped on it, the large, bare feet kicking like a child's at the gold-painted floor beneath.</p><p>But his gaze was canny. Sharp.</p><p>"Soft," he scoffed. "You aren't cured of that even now? That delusion? Look at you, boy! You're an alpha--"</p><p>"I know I'm an alpha!" Kinbote barked. "I feel it every instant I'm alive, pressing in on me, demanding I be true to Her commands, uphold Her ways, do <i>right</i>--"</p><p>Raskin's piggy gaze wandered up to the gold-painted ceiling.</p><p>"You don't tell me how to run my keep," he muttered wildly. "<i>My</i> keep! Think I'll bend in doing as I please, because you have some freak conceits about o-whores? Uskind was the best of you. Warekin is a pompous coward, Larkin a bloody idiot, and you--"</p><p>Raskin's tone turned spitting and vicious.</p><p>"<i>You</i>! All my years of war service, all my time on the council, all my blood shed on the front lines! For the Goddess! And the one time She appears to me, the one time She deigns, it is to tell me I'd borne the fruit that would be my heir on a fucking <i>omega</i>."</p><p>-</p><p>Kinbote seemed to lose some moments, between bidding his father goodbye and striding out to find Larkin shouting down the corridor. </p><p>His ears were ringing. He couldn't seem to make out what Larkin was saying. He did, however, lightly cuff his brother on the shoulder. </p><p>"I'll handle Warekin," he said. "Go -- go check in on the omegas. Nutmeg and Twig and Wisp, aye?"</p><p>His voice sounded far-off to his ears. But once he'd turned down the corridor towards Warekin's airy chambers, he began to regain some of himself. He felt again that dead-sure sense, well past dread, of going to meet his troubles head-on.</p><p>Warekin had their mother Kinshasha's old rooms.</p><p>For many, this stood to reason. Kinshasha had often been accused of favoring Warekin, had borne Warekin. But it wasn't as if she had left her rooms to Warekin. Warekin appeared to have asked for them.</p><p>Neither of his brothers had begrudged him this. Larkin was happy closer to the stables, and Kinbote had little fondness for these rooms, where he'd been drilled on comportment and behavior and everything from how to fight to how to fuck. Also, he had hardly supposed he should have a claim at all, since he was so very <i>not</i> Kinshasha's ideal son, no matter what she had said. No, he'd never been able to muster up any love for Kinshasha's chambers, with their neat, scented courtyard gardens and their golden ceilings, their fine wolf statues and clear ponds full of rare foreign fish. </p><p>Now Warekin lounged on a cushioned bench by one such pond, triumphant as a child, scribbling in his flowery hand.</p><p>"What is the better form of address for an alpha woman, brother: 'great flower of might,'" he proposed, "Or 'fierce star drenched in glory'?"</p><p>"I don't actually give a shit," Kinbote said. "Just like, I'm beginning to think, <i>you</i> don't give a shit about who takes charge of the omegas."</p><p>"Why would I?" Warekin admitted, shrugging elegantly. "I only insisted because Larkin didn't want me to have the win. He's a little fool with bad instincts, and it serves him right to lose every once in a while. I keep hoping he will take it as a lesson, and finally learn sense! And, really, you should have stayed completely quiet. Father gave you a dressing down, didn't he? Just like always. You've never been objective about omegas."</p><p>Kinbote stared at him. Warekin's hair was a glorious blaze, and he was completely at peace, and -- and this all made such little sense. No sense at all.</p><p>Even despite what had been written in Gervaise's ledger, every instinct screamed that Warekin had not bitten Nutmeg himself. Warekin would never so much as dirty a finger by touching it to an omega. Not even to initiate a claim and leave it uncompleted. Warekin, who was promised a seat on the Priest's Council when their Uncle died, had taken an interest in the Order of the Claw of late. Absolute purity of caste was the Order's byword, particularly when it came to relations: friendships, business arrangements, sexual dalliances. </p><p><i>Who bit my omega?</i> Kinbote wanted to demand.</p><p>Warekin had signed in the book for someone else. He must have. Who? Not any of the Kin alphas. Raskin liked to beat and fuck omegas, and didn’t need them heat-addled to do that. Indeed, heat might make them enjoy it too much for Raskin’s tastes. And Larkin was too kind. And Warekin too stuck-up. But surely another alpha arriving at the keep would have made news, and this person hadn't. Kinbote had made Tellusin question all the sigmas early this morning, and not even they reported anyone new arriving.</p><p>Would the omegas know? Say?</p><p>Wait. <i>His</i> omega would know. That -- that was such a simple, clear answer. Goddess. He was so stupid. He could just ask <i>Nutmeg</i>.</p><p>So he didn't so much as bring it up with Warekin now. He only said: "Who do you plan to appoint?"</p><p>"For what?" said Warekin. "Oh. To tend the bitches. Someone appropriate, never you mind--"</p><p>"Someone who will keep them in their place, like you told father," Kinbote growled. "But no doubt in the manner Gervaise did--"</p><p>"Gervaise was entitled to do what he liked with them," Warekin pointed out, finally looking up from his letter. There was a gleam in his eye. "You know, I think Father made a grave mistake letting you get so cosy with our Uncle Erskine, with his rescues and his reforming, his insistence that broken omegas be given <i>caring masters</i> and <i>homes</i>--"</p><p>"I've never assisted Erskine in any of that," Kinbote said. </p><p>Lupa, it would have been too dangerous. Too obvious. Like baring his underbelly to their whole caste. So why did admitting that he'd avoided omegas, rather than help them, make him feel so hollow?</p><p>Warekin's gaze, impossibly, softened. </p><p>"But you agree with him," he told Kinbote quietly. "You always have, I would wager. How can you not? No, Kinbote, just because others think you are the alpha of alphas, that doesn't change the strange state of your mind and heart, does it? Goddess, but it was a cruelty for father to fuck the omega that bore you. I would not wish to be the leavings of that union for the world, not even if I <i>was</i> a war hero."</p><p>There was nothing unkind in his tone. There was nothing improper. And Warekin's face wasn't prissy, or squeezed-up with cold anger, or pompous -- it was open, handsome, and entirely sympathetic. </p><p>Not only did he not seem to envy Kinbote. He seemed to pity him.</p><p>Kinbote stepped back, as if struck.</p><p>"What do you want to let me post my delta here?" he demanded, after a few moments. "What can I give you?"</p><p>Warekin blinked.</p><p>"Havis?" he said. "Lupa's claws, is that old fool still alive?"</p><p>"He isn't a fool," Kinbote said, hollow. "He did the work of Lupa, and has been dear to me--"</p><p>"He concealed you in the omegas' nest until you were a horrible little savage. When Mother found out and rescued you, she wanted him dead. Havis only escaped judgment at his trial by pleading 'divine dream'--"</p><p>"It was a divine dream," Kinbote insisted. "Lupa appeared to him, and said I was to be kept among the family that bore me--"</p><p>This finally struck a note in Warekin. He slammed his paper and pen down, and straightened up. </p><p>"I don't think divine dreams are anything more than rot," he snapped. "Hallucinations of trumped-up little egotists that <i>think</i> they can access the Goddess outside of the church-mandated rituals of the hunt! No, brother, She does not speak outside Her ceremonies, beyond the scope of Her holy houses and outside the interventions of Her priests. Not to anyone, and especially not to a <i>delta</i> like Havis! How could you think I would ever permit you to return the post to that monster, who abused you and kept you low--"</p><p>It hadn't felt low. It had felt normal, natural: living in the tower. He had felt himself among family. Havis had not been unkind to any of them, had been indulgent, fatherly, and good. Only after the trial and his subsequent torture had the man become paranoid and unhappy, sacrificing his charges to the whims of the higher castes, and this, Havis had confided in Kinbote, was what he most regretted. Not doing the Goddess' bidding. But failing in protecting Wisp, Cherry, Titmouse, Clasp, Little Glove, and so many more.</p><p>Kinbote had already written him. Already proposed it to him.</p><p>
  <i>Havis, would you like to make it up to them? To me, your alpha lord?</i>
</p><p>"What can I do?" he demanded now. "You said it yourself, Warekin: they are only omegas. You don't really care who looks after them. But you have ambitions, do you not? Goals? Your plans are greater than simply seizing the hand of the Lady Ebrinne, if I know you. What would it take, to have my pick installed as Master of the Omegas?"</p><p>Now Warekin's lips pursed. He seemed to genuinely be considering this, despite his earlier upset. After a moment, he tapped his mouth with a finger, and said:</p><p>"Larkin."</p><p>"What?" Kinbote said.</p><p>"Larkin," Warekin repeated. "You want to know my ambition? Truly? My ambition is one of the deepest brotherly affection, though neither you nor Larkin ever acknowledges it. Larkin must learn to be a real alpha. To move in our society, to sit among his caste-brothers and see them lead, to understand the wisdom and rightness of our caste's dominance. Take him to Skoll City with you--"</p><p>"He's too young," Kinbote said at once.</p><p>"You went to war at ten!" Warekin snapped. "Larkin isn't young. He's coddled. He's soft. I would make him a ruler just as you would! But before that he must be a proper alpha. So take him away from here and make him that. You have the power to order it, as the heir. I don't. Father won't -- he's lazy and wants Larkin to run the keep for him--"</p><p>"Who <i>will</i> run the keep?" Kinbote demanded.</p><p>"Fucking <i>father</i>," Warekin growled. "And if he doesn't, if he falters, then it is Lupa's will, and I will take up the reins. I'd be happy to do so, if it would give our ninny brother a chance to move among alphas, be counted among alphas. For Lupa's sake, Kinbote! You cut a heroic figure, but do nothing with your Council seat, and display no intention of making the clan name a royal one. I try and try, but they <i>will</i> say I am less an alpha simply because I prefer vestments to military uniform. And Larkin is a no-name country boy. We, the wealthiest keep with three -- three! -- fine alpha sons, and we are a laughingstock. In the clubs of Skoll, the Kin name is synonymous with mediocrity! I will not have it! It would have broken our brother Uskind's heart, and mother's to boot!"</p><p>Kinbote stared at him. He seemed to genuinely believe what he was saying, though it didn't really accord with Kinbote's own experience of how their clan was perceived. </p><p>"Take Larkin to Skoll and Havis can have the omegas, and do whatever he likes with them," Warekin said. "I will give him as much rope as Gervaise got, though I'll admit a private hope that he hang himself with it, for what he did to you so long ago. Well. Do we have a deal?"</p><p>Kinbote had no idea if Larkin wanted to go to Skoll. It seemed a cruel thing to make the decision for him. But then, surely it was crueler to let Warekin gleefully torment the omegas, as he likely would if things did not go his way. If Kinbote refused him now, Warekin might torment them simply because he'd know it would upset Kinbote to do so.</p><p>"Yes," he bit out. "We have a deal, brother."</p><p>-</p><p>He had time to regret this, as he strode back to his own rooms. But he did not regret it as much as he might have.</p><p>Running the keep was work. It took investment, commitment. And it did not happen alone. There were nobles in residence: Lady Yfair and her children, Lord Skelbrooke and his gammas, and a fair few deltas. There were scholars and magicians, necromancers and soldiers. Kinbote knew that many of these people sincerely adored Larkin, and that they were happy to serve the youngest prince.</p><p>Warekin was handsome, but he did not inspire adoration. He was like the foolhardy young alphas who assumed their regiments would revere them, only to discover, once captured, that most of the lower castes would not, in fact, give their lives for a man just because he had a title and broad shoulders and could turn into a wolf with an ill-timed sneeze. </p><p>No, if this was an attempt to take control of their clan lands, then Kinbote would bet Warekin was greatly misjudging things. </p><p>And there was a real benefit to having Havis installed here. And not just Havis. Kinbote would post one or two others among his staff here, to assist his delta in managing the omegas. And to send him word of Warekin's dealings, and the state of the keep.</p><p><i>We will play a long game, brother,</i> he decided. <i>And I will make sure Larkin knows what I know, so that as he sharpens his claws in Skoll, he might also learn to deal with</i> you.</p><p>He was glad now that he'd told Larkin to check on the omegas. Larkin was therefore easy to find: he was sitting in the tower room, chattering to a worshipful Twig and a softly-smiling Nutmeg.</p><p>And Wisp.</p><p>Before Kinbote had left with Larkin, he'd stuck his head in Ataleia's door and asked her to wake the golden-haired omega, as he'd promised Nutmeg he would. But he hadn't expected her to work so quickly. Wisp was seated upright, leaning on his elder child, his younger boy in his arms. His smile matched Nutmeg's: as if he were indulging Larkin. But while Nutmeg and Twig were wrapped up in Larkin's animated rant about the many failings of Warekin, too absorbed to notice the door opening, Wisp's gaze slid to Kinbote.</p><p>Kinbote stopped up short.</p><p>Wisp looked better. Wisp looked alive, rosy-cheeked, and bright-eyed. One of his sons had braided his hair, which fell prettily over his blue shift. Though his arms tightened around Twig, his smile was radiant.</p><p><i>This thing's Nutmeg needs an alpha</i>, Wisp had begged, with halting breaths and feverish eyes, that first day. <i>Nutmeg is mine first, mine Goddess-given. This thing swore to Her I would be a good mother. But this thing has failed and is failing. My Nutmeg was raped -- aye, I call it rape. They say you cannot rape us, but to take even our thoughts and minds from us can be nothing else -- and left abandoned. You will be kind to him, my Kinbote. Please. Say you will be kind, and say you will claim him, for he cannot live this way, with half a mind, in such pain and hunger. Say you will give him what he needs.</i></p><p>In hindsight, Kinbote was not sure he'd done what Nutmeg needed at all. He had thought he had. But it was hard to see Wisp's gentle, bright, forgiving smile and feel that he had not, too, failed in some way.</p><p>"You're awake," he said stupidly.</p><p>Larkin stopped chattering, as now they all noticed Kinbote's presence.</p><p>"What news?" demanded the young alpha. "Is it done--"</p><p>"It is, aye," Kinbote said automatically. "Havis will be the new master of omegas, but--"</p><p>Wisp's smile grew. But now Kinbote’s gaze was sliding to the side, to the omega sitting next to Wisp. Wisp’s smile was gorgeous, but it was nothing as to the answering smile next to it, Nutmeg's, which was twice as beautiful, twice as radiant. To see them both filled him with some undefinable sense of home, want, love, and furious protection. It was thrilling and frightening: Wisp, soft and dear, and Nutmeg, lush, sexy, <i>his</i>. To have their trust was a terrifying thing. Kinbote felt as if he were holding some crystal treasure, and on the verge of dropping it.</p><p>"--were a good man, Lord Havis," Wisp was murmuring, in the meantime.</p><p>"--but there is a catch," Kinbote said. "I--come into the hall and we can speak further, Larkin, if you need to; for it is likely to upset you. Warekin would have you give him charge of the keep in exchange, and come with me to Skoll--"</p><p>Larkin's eyebrows shot up his forehead. Wisp and Nutmeg's smiles faltered, too, in response to the scent-change that came on the young prince, his boldness giving way to something more complex. Kinbote scrambled to find some good news in this, something that would make this all better.</p><p>"But, if you do so, well -- you could take Twig as your staff omega! All of us, you and I, Nutmeg, and Wisp and Twig, we could <i>all</i> go to Skoll--"</p><p>Impossibly, Larkin did not look thrilled by the news, but neither did he look particularly upset. He grunted out: "Makes sense."</p><p>It was Wisp who said, very quietly, "You will all go: you four. But I am not meant to go to Skoll, my Kinbote."</p><p>-</p><p>He had forgotten that Wisp could be stubborn. </p><p>Wisp was warm and accommodating, too. That made one forget the stubbornness. Wisp’s sweet pliability. When they'd been children rolling around together in the warm nest-nursery in Havis' tower, Kinbote had been the shrill, too-large, ugly boy who made all the plans, and Wisp the small, obliging, pretty assistant. If they'd been playing at being omicrons, Kinbote was the smartest one, and Wisp the one who praised him for it. If they'd been zetas, Kinbote had devised the weapons, and Wisp done the secondary smelting; and as thetas, Kinbote had saved the lives of all their family members with selfless and brilliant medical wits, and Wisp had held the pretend surgical-implements for him. </p><p>When they were epsilons, Kinbote had always been the one to raise the mighty spirit of King Arlorr. Wisp had been standing somewhere off to the side, blue eyes going obediently wide, making the pretend feel real by how willing he was to acknowledge the imaginary kings Kinbote had dreamed up. Kinbote had been all ideas and excitement. Though he had been nothing, he had felt himself more secure and powerful than he would ever feel once they ripped him from the nest. Because of Wisp. Wisp had seemed to possess some nonjudgmental, accepting magic that could turn even a powerless not-quite-omega’s ideas into reality. </p><p>But that Wisp had been a good childish best friend --  in truth, the only best friend Kinbote had ever had -- did not mean he could not also be stubborn. And in the great clamor that followed his pronouncement, he would not be budged from his choice to stay.</p><p>Nutmeg begged. Larkin, astonished by Wisp's boldness, fell to chastising. Young Twig surprised them all by making fairly reasoned arguments ("'An if we ever birth, this thing and Nutmeg, you will not see the babe, mam, not your own grandpup, which ever you have said you wish to live to see!")</p><p>But Wisp would not be dissuaded.</p><p>The topic, therefore, seemed to bring his children to the verge of tears. The sadness in Nutmeg's scent in particular was so sharp and perturbing that Kinbote eventually insisted they drop it.</p><p>"You need to think on this clearly, Wisp," he tried, gazing into untroubled blue eyes that said that Wisp had thought and said his piece, and was not likely to think any more. "We'll give you time to think! I have to stay until Havis arrives, in any case, so you have a few days. Let's leave the discussion here, and pick it up again when you're thinking more rationally."</p><p>After this, he drew Larkin into the hall, to give the omegas time to mend things. Larkin was still bristling.</p><p>"You will have to just order him! He's probably gone a bit mad from his fever, hasn't he? Omegas aren't very bright, the priests say, and while Wisp is good, normally <i>so</i> much more obliging than that, I'm sure being sick for so long didn't help him! No, he's addled, Kinbote. But this is why Lupa made alphas: so that we might decide for the lesser orders when they cannot!</p><p>"As for going to Skoll, well, I won't say I haven't longed to, for it does get boring around here, but I'm going to have some people watching Warekin, I can tell you! He wouldn't know the first thing about running the keep! When to give orders, when to counsel, when to let the castes mind their own affairs... Though the last approach, mind you, doesn't apply to omegas <i>or</i> their master! I've been rotten about interceding when Gervaise was in charge, and I shall miss my chance to make it up to most of the poor little things, but at least not Twig-puss, or your Pet, or Wisp! Because we shall simply order Wisp to do what's best for him!"</p><p>Kinbote privately agreed with this. This was an alpha's solution: if a lesser caste was being willful, an alpha could and should simply order them to behave better. </p><p>Only...</p><p>He had given his <i>word</i> to respect Wisp's choice.</p><p>A part of him hoped Nutmeg would forget that he'd done that. Would choose to forget. That night, after Kinbote called for him, and fucked him until they'd both come twice, and then held him after, just held him close, Nutmeg sobbed his heart out.</p><p>"Cannot think why mam won't come with us," he cried, face buried in Kinbote's shoulder. "Mam hasn't a reason, not one I can see! Not one that is rational. He gets in his moods, alpha, and talks of the will of Lupa--"</p><p>"Larkin would like to make him come with us," Kinbote admitted.</p><p>Nutmeg's head snapped up. The boy's golden eyes narrowed.</p><p>"Kinbote," he said. "<i>No</i>. This is mam's choice, Lord Kinbote! And--and you <i>promised</i>--"</p><p>He burst into tears again, horrified now, dropping his arms from around Kinbote, turning his face away, as if he had misjudged his alpha and perhaps even himself. Kinbote felt his chest tighten and hated himself, and had to soothe the boy with pets and reassurances that they would not order, they would cajole. They would change Wisp's mind. </p><p>Even if he was quite sure they wouldn't.</p><p>In the state Nutmeg was in now and over the next few days, he could not make himself ask about the alpha that had nipped the boy. That had somehow set all this in motion. Nutmeg was inconsolable enough as it was. </p><p>But he didn't forget.</p><p>-</p><p>Havis' letter accepting the post came not long after, but it was four days after that before Havis himself appeared at the keep, for he was an old man, and traveled slowly.</p><p>Those were strange days. Not unpleasant, not with Nutmeg there to warm his bed, to take his cock and purr with pleasure from it, to rest quietly in his arms and let himself be kissed after. Not with Wisp to sit at meals with them (like Nutmeg, he was horrified by most of what the upper castes ate, and indeed only Twig seemed to be the least bit an adventurous eater), and Larkin dropping in to be a good-natured companion, forever cheerfully pestering Kinbote with questions about who should join his new retinue aside from Twig, and what he should take with him to Skoll.</p><p>But the balance of power in the keep was off. The news spread among the Kin clan that Lord Larkin was to sojourn in the City, for a society debut, and that Warekin was to assume most of his duties. Kinbote was pleased to see that most of the castes didn't seem to welcome this news. Larkin was sincerely loved, and Warekin rather less loved. Yfair actually appeared in Kinbote's rooms, blamed him specifically for this twist, and threw a vial of aavis fir poison at his head, which Kinbote decided to take as a sincere tribute to Larkin's charms, rather than as a chance to start a minor war with the leader of the betas. </p><p>In addition to permitting Nutmeg to spend long hours with his mother and brother, and joining him in the tower room, which seemed impossibly small for Kinbote and Larkin and <i>three</i> omegas, Kinbote also allowed visits to the rest of Nutmeg's family.</p><p>Nutmeg's. Not his. His omegas were gone. Titmouse had been killed like an animal, and Cherry left to die. Vise, too, had fallen ill; and nothing in the ledgers had anything to say about what had become of Muffin, who had been Clasp's mother.</p><p>Kinbote could do nothing about this. Could not make it right. He prayed at his private shrine daily, trying to hear Lupa's counsel now without the aid of the mushrooms and chantings, but for the dead there could be no repairing things.</p><p>He knew this. He knew this because there was a cold, howling place inside him, a place consecrated to Clasp and Little Glove, long-ago behind enemy lines; and that had never been repaired, either. He'd simply shoved it deep down and ignored it for years. But he still took the older ledgers and pressed them on Olakna the omicron.</p><p>"What is this?" she said, eyebrows lifting as she flipped the pages. "Oh, Lord, this doesn't need to be kept in the library! The library is for important things -- histories, and fables of those Goddess-touched, things we want to <i>preserve</i>, not some bills of sale for omegas--"</p><p>"I want this preserved," Kinbote growled, digging his fingers into his hands and feeling the nails lengthen slightly. "I want these names, at least, cared for as you would those of any alpha. Set a shelf aside for them, Olakna-kin-omicron, and tell your caste that these are to be treated as you would an official history. That is an <i>order</i>."</p><p>Until Havis could arrive, he posted Tellusin to look after the living omegas, the children of the ones he'd known. The sigma had experience with broken and abused omegas, after all, having run one of Erskine's progressive reform-house brothels for a time. Tellusin spent the first day getting to know the charges, and sent Kinbote a list of their names, dispositions, histories, physical qualities, strengths, and general condition, a full report which Kinbote stayed up reading long after he'd fucked Nutmeg to the point of exhaustion, and the boy was softly snoring in his bed.</p><p>The state of just one Pocket, who was evidently heavy with child and simultaneously dangerously undernourished, had Kinbote posting Ataleia in the omega quarters as well. That was without even considering the others.</p><p>Some of them were mere children. Nutmeg and Twig were blessedly not, were omegas old enough to be fucked, as anyone in the wolflands would understand it. But they were still younger than Larkin, more boys than men. And Kinbote was quite sure neither of them -- nor any of their friends and cousins and mothers, either -- merited the kind of use they'd received, the endless parade of beatings and gang-rapes and jeering audiences laughing as they took dog-knots. </p><p>The ugly details Tellusin procured left him floating in a sort of formless rage for two days, which frightened Nutmeg. Kinbote could scent the fright on him, but of course there was no way to make that better. Wisp, he could tell, had told Nutmeg none of Kinbote's own history. And Kinbote was not inclined to correct that oversight. The circle that could prove he was omega-born and omega-raised was small -- Raskin and Kinshasha had claimed a childhood illness to cover it up; Havis had been tortured quiet, and a few other nobles threatened with the same treatment; and any omega who could have spoken on the matter was dead -- and he had never seen any cause to make it bigger. Now he saw even less cause. </p><p>If Nutmeg knew he was one of them, one of their small family (<i>A family we are; a family we stay!</i> Clasp had loved to sing), the boy would probably <i>despise</i> him. Kinbote had taken his own birth out on Nutmeg, overeager to punish the boy, as if that would cloak what Kinbote was. And Kinbote had done nothing for the omegas, besides. Kinbote had been rescued and remade by the Lady Kinshasha, when she'd learned he existed, and after that he had not looked back.</p><p>On the third day, just before Havis arrived, Wisp was well enough to totter about and ask to be returned to the nest.</p><p>Kinbote carried him over, just to be of <i>some</i> use to his friend. Nutmeg and Twig skipped ahead of him, both having learned the way across the keep by now. They were dressed in the simple, pretty crimson tunics Tellusin had ordered made for all the omegas, cut to bare their long legs and sides; and in slippers Larkin had gifted them. Nutmeg had such a terrible edge of shame to his scent the first day Kinbote had sent him off to see the other omegas, for being forced to crawl, that today Kinbote had relented and allowed him to walk alongside his brother, and despite his continued upset over Wisp, he otherwise seemed very pretty and cheerful.</p><p>"Will you come in and meet them, alpha?" he said, when they had arrived at the shabby hall before the old omega theatre. His eyes danced. Lupa, but they were lovely. Such striking, slanted eyes, ringed by thick lashes. He blinked now, at the noises coming from the theatre. Kinbote had ordered it to be dismantled, and they could hear the whistles and clangs of the tau work-crew from here.</p><p>Kinbote shook his head in answer. He could not seem to make himself actually meet these new ones, these children of the family he had failed. But when he set Wisp down, the golden-haired omega softly touched his arm.</p><p>"Kinbote," Wisp said quietly. "Please."</p><p>Nutmeg saw this. Kinbote did not miss the way his eyes widened at it, nor how he swallowed and looked torn and near-unhappy for a moment. His scent was curdled over with a thread of jealousy.</p><p><i>Goddess</i>, Kinbote thought tiredly. <i>It isn't like that, Nutmeg.</i></p><p>But he lacked the words to explain the tender guilt Wisp prompted in him. So he just nodded tightly, and forced himself to step forward.</p><p>The omegas were kept in a courtyard, like dogs, though Kinbote had it on good account Havis intended to move them to a more suitable location soon. But that did not make the courtyard any better. Because Cherry's son, Patch, had his mother's same burnished red hair and shy grin. Though he was bruised -- Tellusin had said they were all badly bruised -- there was a soft innocence to him. When Nutmeg introduced them, Patch regarded Kinbote with an open awe that made the alpha want to pat him on the head. </p><p>Next Nutmeg and Wisp took Kinbote to Dainty, a very taking blond with the sort of rear that generally sent Larkin into conniptions. Dainty was similarly awestruck, smelling of overwhelmed cunt-damp at the sight of an alpha; but his little child, Sleeve, was blessedly unaffected, and just blinked large black at eyes at Kinbote. They were Vise's eyes. Kinbote swallowed hard, looking from the little face to its mother's, and linking them both back to an omega who'd been born, used up, and left to die.</p><p>Pocket was freckled and dimpled, and indeed very pregnant. When they arrived, Tellusin, who always enjoyed his omegas most when they were bred up, was bouncing Pocket on his knee, coaxing the obedient thing into eating from his hand. Here, too, a skinny child lingered, dancing about 'Master Tellusin' and peppering the indulgent old goat with questions about his tattoos. Tellusin responded by telling little Keyhole about his face-wolves.</p><p>"Left one, my pretty little fannyboy, is the great alpha Himself: Finbar, who led us in the golden age, and who was first to say sigmas were a caste deserving enough to keep their own businesses, and not merely work as hired labor! And the right wolf, you see him so big and scarred and magnificent, is this fine lord coming upon us now, who did save mine own life and that of some twelve others, years ago on the front! Our own good Lord Kinbote!"</p><p>Keyhole whirled around. His mouth slipped into the lopsided grin that had once graced his grandmother, Titmouse, who had died so purposelessly. Kinbote's throat seized up.</p><p>But the boy knew nothing of Kinbote's history, even though Kinbote knew his. Keyhole skipped forwards and when he reached Kinbote lifted his skinny fingers to the alpha lord's face, to trace the scars that matched those of the wolf. Kinbote saw the omegas around him stiffen, felt their fright and worry tinge the air, but he only closed his eyes and let the boy feel. He'd kept the scars for a reason. So that others might remember -- so that <i>he</i> might remember -- all that had been lost with Uskind. So he didn't mind if the scars were acknowledged.</p><p>"Did you really save his life, Lord?" Keyhole asked, excited.</p><p>"Aye."</p><p>"This thing has never met a hero before!"</p><p>"It’s possible you aren’t meeting one now," Kinbote said, truthfully, and watched the child’s expression twist into confusion, as if he thought Kinbote was funning him.</p><p>Then Keyhole, too young to know the lures of an alpha, promptly abandoned him, shouting, "Twig! Oh, Twig, you're back!" and darting away to that omega.</p><p>They were just after the lunch hour, apparently. Tellusin had devised a schedule for the omegas based upon Erskine's routine in his brothels, with three hearty meals per day and a brief period of rest after each one, for the creatures to consort with one another, and check on their children, before resuming their whore's work. Wisp had wandered off to so consort, and was now sitting in the shadow of a wall with Dainty, Sleeve, and two more -- a curvaceous black-haired beauty and a black-haired little toddler.</p><p>Nutmeg dragged Kinbote here next. </p><p>Kinbote was so boneless and struck-dumb by the dark-haired pair that he let himself be dragged.</p><p>"This is Bonbon," Nutmeg said now, and blushed, as he looked from Kinbote to his omega friend. "Our Bonbon, the loveliest of us, alpha, and -- and the child of your--"</p><p>"I know who he is," Kinbote said harshly. "I know--"</p><p>All of the omegas, thus far, had ranged from wonderstruck to needy to, in the case of the children, altogether ambivalent.</p><p>Bonbon was neither needy nor impressed. His face was unreadable, but his scent was harsh. Hostile, almost angry. As if he had a great many curses he longed to throw on Kinbote.</p><p>Nutmeg stared at him, plainly confused. Wisp reached out and touched a warning hand to his shoulder.</p><p>Bonbon smiled. It did not reach his eyes. Dark eyes like Kinbote's. A great deal of him was like Kinbote, was the pieces of Kinbote's brutish form rearranged into something smaller and much, much more stunning. </p><p>"You are alpha now to our Nutmeg," the black-haired omega said. "And will be taking him and our Twig, aye? This thing knows. This thing learns much of the gossip from your fine lords, great alpha prince, for am a great favorite with them, am their little cumrag--"</p><p>Kinbote flinched. Bonbon's grin deepened, his scent deepened, <i>delighted</i> to strike a hit.</p><p>Oh, Warekin had nothing on this creature.</p><p>"Am hoping you will be kind with our Nutmeg," Bonbon continued. "He and Twig, they are like brothers to this thing--"</p><p><i>Another fucking hit</i>, Kinbote thought dully, and tasted ash.</p><p>"They are beloved to this thing. And though I have no power, lord, not as you do, though this thing is just an omega and an orphan, motherless--"</p><p>"Bonbon!" Wisp cut in, and was ignored.</p><p>"--this thing would become a wolf, lord, as the sons of our nest sometimes do, I am told--"</p><p>"<i>Bonbon!</i>" Wisp said again, urgent.</p><p>"--were I to hear of mine brothers, mine <i>true</i> brothers, being mistreated! Aye, lord?"</p><p>This pronouncement was ruined by the tiny child in Bonbon's arms squirming around and trying to play with the tassels on Kinbote's silk jacket. Bonbon pulled the boy back like he was rescuing him from tumbling headfirst into a fire. </p><p>Somehow, that was the greatest insult. The little boy, an innocent, no matter his caste, being kept away from Kinbote as if Bonbon suspected Kinbote might devour him.</p><p>"I have no intention of mistreating them," Kinbote stammered out, and then he was turning, tail between his fucking legs, and fleeing the scene.</p><p>-</p><p>He could hear Wisp placating Nutmeg, telling him not to worry. Kinbote also didn't want him to worry, but he did, selfishly, want his omega to come after him. To come put those long-fingered brown hands on his trembling arms, and reach up with that narrow face for a kiss. To offer the sweet, sure comfort Nutmeg seemed to effortlessly gift him with.</p><p>But Wisp was the omega to hurry after him, catching up to Kinbote in the dirty hall just between the courtyard and the theatre.</p><p>"Forgive him," Wisp said, wringing his hands. "Our Bonbon, he is kinder than his bark--"</p><p>"It is I who should be asking him for forgiveness!" Kinbote snarled. "How old was he, when I demanded they let me take his mother for my staff omega, when I decided I could have Clasp mother me <i>and</i> be an alpha?"</p><p>He'd been a real alpha. Demanding his way. Demanding it because he'd missed Clasp so. Kinshasha had insisted: <i>No.</i> I<i> am your mother, not that thing.</i> And he had desperately tried to believe it. But Clasp was the one who'd birthed him, given him milk, and thanked the Goddess for the honor. The one who had held him and sung to him. His first family had been Clasp and Little Glove and Wisp and the others, as if some bonds were stronger than caste. </p><p>"Three," Wisp was saying now, eyes bright and wet. "Bon was born after you were found and made a prince. Was but three years old when you called for our Clasp to go with you to the front lines. But you -- you were not more than ten, Kin. Remember that."</p><p>Not more than ten, and desperate for someone to soothe him. Frightened of going to war, enraged that Uskind had picked <i>Wisp's</i> mother for a fuckpet, that Uskind had made his Wisp motherless, and that the year Wisp was passed around the <i>entire fucking keep</i>--</p><p>He lost it. Lunged at the wall, tearing into it, the cheap stone crumbling beneath his hands. The snarling sound of destruction was swallowed by the clangs coming from the theatre, but when he was done there was mortar in his teeth and on his forearms, and Wisp was flinching.</p><p>"Do you wish you could have saved him? Your family? And not this thing's Nut--"</p><p>Guilt was wild in Wisp's scent. Kinbote swallowed hard.</p><p>"I could never use him like I use Nutmeg," he said. "Goddess. I'm not my fucking father. I'm not like that.   And it's clear he hates me, anyway. But why did you never <i>tell</i> me, Wisp?”</p><p>He had seen Wisp, sometimes, in the intervening years. Not often. He was so seldom at the keep -- by his own choice -- and when he did come he stayed such a short while. And even on those days, he had often felt he couldn't bear it to call for Wisp. As a boy, he'd demanded the omega near-constantly, but all it had done was make Raskin notice Wisp faster, press Havis to turn the omega over to him, to train Wisp all the sooner. When Kinbote had gone to war some sixteen or so years ago, and begged not to be sent away, Wisp had been punished for it. And when Kinshasha had died some fourteen years ago, and Kinbote had needed comfort, he'd tried to sneak out to the omega's tower. Raskin had caught him, and been furious. Wisp had been consigned to a brutal week of rapes then, too. Because omegas weren't pack. Omegas weren't pack.</p><p>But sometimes he'd glimpsed his friend, on the lap of some gamma or beta who seemed properly taken with him, and not inclined to treat Wisp too cruelly. Sometimes they'd been able to exchange a hurried word. Wisp glowing to see him. Kinbote more reserved, more able to understand the differences in their station. And in all those brief moments -- why had Wisp never <i>said</i>?</p><p>Wisp stepped forward and carefully wiped away the tears on his face.</p><p>"You were ours, Kin. Our family. But you escaped this. Your mam bore Bonbon, aye, but did not want you knowing of him. Missing your little brother. None of us wanted to tell you, not of Bon, nor of what was it like, in the years after, when Raskin grew angry at <i>us</i> for Havis hiding you.</p><p>"We could not drag you back to us, our Kinbote. But nor did we want to. Better that you be the alpha you are, fortunate, blessed by Lupa, than bear the guilt of what was happening to us less fortunate."</p><p>Kinbote could only stare at him.</p><p>"I'm going to fucking bear it anyway," he ground out, shoulders shaking, as Wisp stroked his face gently. "And I <i>fucking deserve to</i>!"</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. New Beginnings</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Leaving Wisp was the hardest thing Nutmeg had ever done.</p><p>He didn't cry. He was very surprised that he didn't cry, that only Wisp and Twig cried. But it was like there was a huge chasm inside him, and his tears had all slipped into that and filled it up. And after that all that could be done was to be brave and calm, to kiss his mother and wrap his arms about Wisp, and promise over and over to look after his brother as much as his alpha would let him.</p><p>He promised this not just to Wisp, but to Dainty, Pocket, Patch, Keyhole, Sleeve, and little Gem. And to Bonbon, who pulled him aside and pressed a small, sharp thing into his hands -- a <i>blade</i>, Nutmeg saw, with wide eyes -- and hissed that if Nutmeg or Twig were seriously harmed, if they were in danger of mutilation or death, or even if they ever simply needed their family, they were to tell Yyls-kin-beta--</p><p>("He is in Skoll!" Bonbon had said, very seriously. "Your Lord Kinbote has made him a slave in his household, Nutmeg. But Yyls still has his Gift, and can speed here and tell us if you need aid, and this thing will take your mam and together we will <i>move the earth</i> should you need us, do you understand? Weak as we are, we omegas can still care for each other!")</p><p>And Nutmeg had just nodded dumbly, and tucked the blade away.</p><p>He had never had a place to tuck anything away before, but before the journey to Skoll, a little tottering old man arrived. Lord Havis-kin-delta, who was eighty-nine and nearly blind, but sharp enough in how he saluted Kinbote and accepted the ledgers of the omegas. He brought great trunks of things for his charges: fabrics and cushions and blankets and carpets for their new nest, which would be in a proper part of the keep, with big sunny rooms and even a little garden. But the trunks also contained little silken costumes and big metal phalluses to train them all with, and -- Nutmeg spied -- even a few mercury slugs. </p><p>He was relieved to see Lord Havis did not hold with omega thrones, however. And the old man's treasure pile ceded some warm sets of clothes for Nutmeg and Twig, though they were not his charges. Skoll City, though it wasn't so far away as some reaches of the wolflands, was nestled into the edge of the sea. It was therefore much, much colder than the sun-drenched valley that sheltered the keep, and so for the first time he and Twig were bundled up, in tan leggings underneath their red tunics, and each given a dun brown servant's coat to wear once they reached their new home. Nutmeg slipped the <i>shiv</i>, as Bonbon had called it, into the pocket of the coat, and nervously tried to forget about it.</p><p>Omegas were not supposed to have weapons. Were not supposed to think of defending themselves. A part of Nutmeg was defiantly thrilled at the opportunity to do so, to be like a real person, and not just a bitch, but a greater part, now, wished to be a decent omega.</p><p>He had a decent alpha, after all. Kinbote was good to him. </p><p>Over the past few days, his alpha had permitted Nutmeg to live in a daze of happy pleasures. </p><p>Breakfasts with his mam and Twig. Hours spent with the others, showing them how to apply soothing salves to their smarting limbs under Tellusin's approving eye, braiding the hair of the little ones, who glowed at the attention. In the evenings, after the night-shift of brothel-work was complete, Nutmeg and Twig were allowed to help their family wash and eventually even to retire with them all to the nest, which had been cleaned out a bit, the bedding turned over for once. They would sit and tell stories, and sing. Nutmeg would hold Gem and Sleeve in his arms and rock them to sleep, before hurrying back to Kinbote's quarters to attend to his alpha.</p><p>His alpha, who owned him. It was no longer a question of whether Nutmeg accepted the owning. In truth, perhaps he never would accept it. Lupa had made him defiant, and he was quite secure in his hatred for Her hierarchy, for how She had consigned him to be nothing more than a fucktoy.</p><p>But his body knew it was owned. Liked being owned. Each night, his mouth watered when he saw his lord undo his trousers and the bulge of that great cock spring free. Nutmeg would go wet at it, at just the thick length blunting out into the air. Kinbote's scent would envelop him: hot, powerful, and demanding. Nutmeg would tear with shaking hands at his soft new tunics, squirming on the bed, trying to get naked and spread so his alpha might have any hole Kinbote pleased.</p><p><i>Knot me, knot me, knot me!</i> his little bitch-mind would chant, until Kinbote's fingers should settle on his hip, the alpha stilling him with a chuckle.</p><p>"We use our words," Kinbote would remind him.</p><p>"F-fuck me, please, alpha, oh, alpha, give this bitch your knot, oh <i>please</i>--"</p><p>Kinbote's approval would slam into him, and make him whimper all the louder. When his alpha pressed into him, Nutmeg would already be halfway to coming, wet and dripping, eager to clench and make his lord proud. His holes were learning the true pleasure of spreading on that mighty prick, and his body was beginning to love being forced down, smothered by Kinbote's larger form. Though when Kinbote made him ride the big cock, it was a greater pleasure still, for Nutmeg would see himself in the mirrors of Kinbote's fine rooms, tits jiggling and bouncing, rivulets of milk on his chest and cunt-slick painting his thighs, balanced on his alpha's hard, firm form, cooing from the joy of having his hungry cunt speared on such a huge prick. </p><p>And Kinbote groaning, throwing his head back. Loose-limbed and enjoying it, praising him: "That's it, Nutmeg, like that--"</p><p>Nutmeg would whine with formless delight. Kinbote never hit him or hurt him, but just let him fuck himself to orgasm as often as he liked, until the knot came. Nutmeg would fuck himself <i>stupid</i>, fuck himself sore, so that by the time his alpha was pumping his womb up with cum, he'd be drooling and exhausted, and Kinbote could sit up and pull him in, embrace him. Pat his hair, and nip along his sensitive neck and bruise up his mouth with kisses.</p><p>Even on the morning they were to leave, when Nutmeg took his hurried daily punishment (a figging, for Kinbote and his staff were distracted with the last-minute packing, and there was no time to lavish a good, hard whipping on the omega), Kinbote would pause and lean over his kneeling omega, pull Nutmeg close and press a hard kiss to his lips. This happened some two or three times as Nutmeg's arse burned up, and by the time Kinbote remembered to order the ginger out, Nutmeg had come on absolutely nothing but the momentary kisses and the scorch in his abused arse, and was moaning softly, sitting in a pool of his own bitch-slick. </p><p>"I see we need to think up some new punishments," Kinbote muttered then, but it was with his usual flashing grin. He lifted Nutmeg up easily and carted him to the bathroom to be washed off, so that, Kinbote confided, he might smell nice and be beautiful when he said his goodbyes to the others.</p><p>"They should see you at your best," Kinbote said gruffly, lathering up Nutmeg's hair, the omega relaxing into his rough touches despite himself. "That is how I intend to keep you. I mean to be a good alpha to you, from now on. I will keep you well. You have my word on that. And I would like your mother and family to know it, so that they might not worry for you."</p><p>Later, as the keep fell away from the rattling cart that carried Twig and Nutmeg, the former still crying softly into Nutmeg's shoulder, Nutmeg touched his fingertips to the shiv with a small cringing sensation in his heart. </p><p>He told himself he would not need it. Not with the alpha he had. He told himself he could believe he would not need it. </p><p>-</p><p>Their party set a bruising pace for Skoll City.</p><p>It was quite a large party. Larkin, as a prince and an alpha, was entitled to take one personal servant from each caste upon his ascension to life outside the keep. So, aside from Twig, his selected omega, there were thirteen others traveling with the princes and Kinbote's own servants. These included the omicron Olakna, who had brought an entire cart full of books; as well as a few nobles who had their own sizable pieces of luggage. Kinbote's staff looked lean and expert next to these plump, giddy countryfolk. Tellusin's spry mare did double the work of the other horses, circling the party and keeping everyone moving along. Ingwret, who was driving the cart with the omegas, would occasionally lean back to make sly remarks on the state of this soft gamma Larkin had picked over here, wincing at being forced to endure a gallop; or that dim little upsilon cousin who Prince Larkin had picked, probably for his loose wantonness and fat arse, for his culinary skills were nothing to write home about.</p><p>This roused Twig from his tears momentarily. With wide eyes, the young omega cried, “Prince Larkin cannot like that kind of thing!”</p><p>Ingwret cackled. </p><p>“How would you know, Puss? Likes his prick wet, the prince does. Aye, your brother can tell you.”</p><p>Nutmeg nodded, for this was the truth, but of course this just made Twig look even more miserable. Nutmeg was claimed, and meant to be his alpha’s, Kinbote meant to be his. But Twig was just a regular omega, a staff omega, and could be made to sate all the members of Larkin’s household if Larkin so ordered it, while Larkin himself pursued whatever he liked. </p><p>Still, Nutmeg thought the prince would not be cruel to Twig. Larkin had already given his theta, a prim little man with a nervous expression, a spectacular dressing-down for even attempting to suggest that Twig be gelded. </p><p>“It will be well,” he told his brother now, stroking Twig’s back and willing himself to believe it. “It will be well, Twig.”</p><p>The theta certainly seemed inclined to take a careful touch with Twig now, which was just as well, as he was the only theta the party had. They had left Ataleia behind temporarily. She was charged with training some keep thetas to offer medical aid to the omegas; and would be joining them in Skoll when this was done. And they had left Zoree. Nutmeg could only guess at the reason for this, but, since he had heard Kinbote and Larkin talking late into the night about keeping an eye on their brother Warekin, the reason proved not terribly hard to guess at. </p><p>As Twig sniffled into his shoulder, Nutmeg settled in to bear the rattling of the cart, staring with interest at the road around them.</p><p>Nutmeg had never been outside the keep before. Not unless he counted one dizzying hunt with Larkin, or that day he'd tried to rescue Twig, and he had made it not even a mile off from the great fortress that time. But now they were clearing far more than a mile. Maybe even tens or hundreds of miles. The cart bumped along swiftly, Ingwret driving his mules with precision, and around the road such enormous green trees sprang up, bigger than any Nutmeg had ever seen before. At first they were just larger versions of the weeping, spreading trees in the keep courtyards, but then they began to diversify. White-barked trees, and then trees that stabbed the sky with enormous bristles, bearing needles instead of leaves. Birds darted in and out, birds of all colors, and in the undergrowth plump little animals flashed their behinds at the party that thundered by. Nutmeg could not seem to take it all in. Even the scents seemed wider and greater here, spreading out into an interesting tapestry that kept him alert. By the time Twig had stopped crying, Nutmeg was sitting straight up and staring about, overwhelmed. He nudged his brother gently and said, "Smell that?"</p><p>Twig nodded. His eyes and nose were red still. He said, "What is it, Nut?"</p><p>"This thing thinks it's the world," Nutmeg said, with perfect honesty.</p><p>-</p><p>At nightfall, they stopped by a large house with a peaked roof, in the middle of a few busy acres of garden and farm.</p><p>It was an inn, Ingwret explained.</p><p>"Aye, his Lordship likes this one. Most alphas will insist on staying at the big one up the road run by the Jan keep, but they've no outbuildings there for our use, see? So then those of us as are not lords -- myself and Tellusin and Scaw -- we would be left sleeping in the dirt outside. Here, the sigmas that run this holding have built a few sheds, like. The lords will sleep inside still, in the bedrooms, as they should, but there are spare beds in the little house there by the barn for the middle castes; and the cots in the lean-to by the henhouse will do for Scaw and I. Quite warm! Nice hens, too. I'll help 'em kill and cook one for his lordship's breakfast in the morning."</p><p>"Where will these things sleep, honorable?" Twig ventured to ask, as the members of their party hurried about the yard, dragging luggage to and fro, while Kinbote and Larkin engaged in deep conversation with the sigma innkeepers. This was not a silly question. The elderly couple that apparently kept this inn was looking over at the omegas with rather sour faces.</p><p>"I've no idea," Ingwret said, shrugging. "They have to have some place for you. Just -- the lean-to is for proper castes, aye? That's <i>our</i> place, not yours. Can't be having you in there anyway. Someone's bound to try and fuck you, with the way your scent can addle a man, and then their lordships would not be best pleased!"</p><p>Soon enough Kinbote came over.</p><p>"Ingwret, your supper is laid out in the barn," he said, waving that upsilon off, and then he turned to the omegas. He looked strained, and his tone was deep and gruff, his scent almost embarrassed.</p><p>"Nutmeg, you're with me. They don't dare separate me from my bitch. I've explained to them that they may as well tell me I'm not allowed to bring my own prick inside. But Twig...you're not claimed. You'll be sleeping in the pigsty tonight. I'm told they'll be putting some bread out for you."</p><p>"The pigsty?" Nutmeg stammered, his arms tightening around his brother. "Alone?"</p><p>Twig both looked and smelled frightened by the prospect. Nutmeg was frightened too. An omega sitting alone in a sty would be easy pickings for anyone, and even without that danger, the lodgings sounded dank and filthy.</p><p>Kinbote grimaced. </p><p>"Well, that's Larkin's concern as well," he said, gesturing back at where the young lordling was waving his arms at the innkeepers still, very animated in his arguments. "I think he won't win the day, however. I can't let him win the day. I--these people are retired cityfolk, and neither wealthy nor powerful. They have saved up to buy this inn, Nutmeg, and they make a good trade because people see them as pious, as keeping to Lupa's order and Her division of castes--"</p><p>Nutmeg understood, though he didn't like it. Kinbote did not wish to compromise the reputation of his hosts. He nodded obediently. But he also said, heedless of interrupting, "Your will be done, my alpha. But allow me, please, to stay with Twig in the sty--"</p><p>Kinbote's mouth tightened into a grim line.</p><p>"I won't allow that," he said, firm. "You're my omega. You bed with me. And the answer to leaving one of you exposed isn't to leave two of you exposed. No, I'll have Scawmin move his cot to the sty and bed by Twig, after he's eaten. Larkin can post his psi there to guard as well. That's the only answer for it that I can think of. You can stay with Twig until they come, but after that I want you inside, between my knees while I eat. That's your place. It will be the way we dine in Skoll, most days, and it will do you good to get used to it now." </p><p>His orders given, Kinbote turned away, leaving the omegas a disappointed huddle. They sat shivering in the cart, for this first night outside the valley was proving <i>cold</i>, until Prince Larkin should come and press his coat on Twig, saying, "If there is any trouble, call for me. This is ridiculous!" before stomping away, smelling of fury.</p><p>Not three minutes later, Scawmin came out of the barn, wiping his mouth, and heaved Twig up with a grunt.</p><p>"Come on, then, boycunt," he said, with surprisingly little rancor. "I'm to watch you tonight for my lord."</p><p>Nutmeg watched sadly as Twig was carried across the fields, his face tight and anxious over Scawmin's shoulder, an anxiety Nutmeg himself matched. The last time Twig had been bedded with psis...</p><p>He was evidently not the only one thinking in this vein. At supper, which for the lords was held in a big, high-beamed room with round little tables and a roaring fire, Larkin continued snappish and unhappy. He was not ungracious, because he was Larkin, but he didn't rise to the conversational gambits of the other lords, and he kept suddenly standing up from his table and striding towards the windows.</p><p>"That's the sty?" he demanded of their hosts, pointing at something a ways off in the fields. "Over there? Not very secure, is it?"</p><p>"My lord," their hosts stammered. "It's a pigsty."</p><p>"<i>Exactly</i>," Larkin kept saying, his handsome face drawn into a stubborn frown.</p><p>Nutmeg, for his part, mostly kneeled between his alpha's legs, as ordered. His head rested on Kinbote's thigh. Kinbote wore tight, sturdy trousers, and the bulge of his huge cock was tantalizing, but Nutmeg wasn't ordered to suck it. Only petted, occasionally, and fed. Some of the food was quite nice and normal, but a few things were far too sharp-tasting, and Kinbote would have to lightly cuff him on the ear to get him to swallow. Aside from this, and aside from his concern over Twig, he passed a good meal, and his belly was soon full. With this and the excitement of the day wearing off, once his lord rose and directed him to crawl after him to their room, Nutmeg was very drowsy. </p><p>Tellusin had said he was supposed to help Kinbote disrobe, now that Zoree was back at the keep. But he was so tired and overexcited that he made a muddle of Kinbote's jacket lacings. Kinbote snorted, and batted his hands away.</p><p>"I'll do it, omega. Come here," his alpha said, and then the big hands were pulling off Nutmeg's coat, lifting off his tunic, and helping him stumble out of his long leggings and woolen slippers. When the omega was naked, Kinbote tipped him onto the inn's big trundle bed with a grunt, tapping Nutmeg's bare arse lightly. Though there was a fire in the room's grate, it was cold, and Nutmeg was shivering in seconds.</p><p>"Wrap yourself up," Kinbote said, massaging Nutmeg’s goosebumped thigh. "I'll be with you in a moment. No fucking tonight, since there's no time to flush out your holes in the morning, and I wouldn't want for you to spend a day cum-sticky on the road. But you can suck me off before you sleep."</p><p>Nutmeg gratefully burrowed into the sheets. Even as he did so, he worried for Twig, who likely had no blankets. This meant that he paid no attention at all to his alpha's slow disrobing, not even though Kinbote was so large and strong, and taking great care to bare his muscles with slow purpose, eyes locked on his distracted omega. Nutmeg could more or less smell that this was happening, his alpha deigning to show off for him. But it simply didn't seem to matter as much as Twig.</p><p>Kinbote was annoyed when he climbed into the bed next to him.</p><p>"Alpha, after I've sucked you, may this thing--"</p><p>"No, you may not go running naked out to the pigsty," Kinbote grunted.</p><p>Oh.</p><p>"If I put my leggings back on," Nutmeg tried, "May I--"</p><p>"Lupa's fucking claws. We'll both go check on your brother once we've warmed up and slept a bit. Does that work? Does that please you, little prince of sluts?"</p><p>Nutmeg nodded vigorously, relieved. It wasn't perfect, but it was a greater concession than he'd expected, and it soothed his nerves some. </p><p>Kinbote shifted to look down at him, the movement rather funny, for how it put the big man curved on his side. Nutmeg reached out and traced his pectoral, admiring the firm, hard muscle, lightly downed in black hair. </p><p>"Lupa, but you have good instincts," Kinbote growled. "Touch me more often, will you?"</p><p>"Alpha, I touch you all the time," Nutmeg said, blinking. "Just this morning I put my tits on your fine cock--"</p><p>"My cock, my cock! Yes, I know you love it. You were mouthing at it enough at dinner. It's nice to have a pet that likes the rest of me too, though, you know. I'm not as taking as you, omega, and I know it. I'm an ugly brute. But I like being caressed a bit."</p><p>Nutmeg swallowed, wondering how on earth his alpha could consider his great form 'ugly, or Nutmeg's 'taking.' Was the magnificent Lord Kinbote blind? There was never a plainer omega on earth than the the one Kinbote had settled on, though admittedly Nutmeg was now much more plump and fuckable than before. But Nutmeg had no interest dissuading Kinbote's delusions. <i>He</i> liked being caressed too, liked all the times his lord would kiss him, pet his hair, lick the shell of his ear or run his big hands over Nutmeg's back.</p><p>Nutmeg cuddled into him now, returning the favor. Running his own hands across the broad chest, kissing worshipfully downwards. There was a trail of wiry hair that led down to the proud, half-hard cock, and Nutmeg followed it, sucking wetly. Kinbote groaned, lying back and letting his thighs part, so Nutmeg could crawl into the vee of his groin. This left Nutmeg's own rear in the cold air, waving in his lordship's face, his ungainly long legs on Kinbote's shoulders.</p><p>It was an awkward position. It didn't matter. Kinbote's scent was sharp and strong and <i>good</i> here, and Nutmeg greedily reached for his cock, taking the hard flesh into his hands. Kinbote's blunt cockhead was wondrously thick, and Nutmeg pulled back the foreskin to lick at the sensitive parts beneath. Most men were not so clean here, so until he had met Kinbote he had not enjoyed this obligatory part of the process, but his lord had good habits, and all Nutmeg tasted was sweat and skin and the promise of his alpha's cum in his belly.</p><p>The big cock was hot in his mouth. He sucked down as much as he could, tasting it on every inch of his tongue, and then pulled back a bit, drooling on it like his alpha liked. With one hand he stroked the base, and the other he used to fondle the velvety, generous ballsack. He bobbed on the prick obediently, hearing Kinbote's pleased groans in his ears. His alpha's scent was all-over with lust, fondness, and deep approval for Nutmeg, and Nutmeg felt stupidly pleased by this. Aye, he was a bitch, but at least he was a good one. </p><p>He had never taken much pride in it, before. Somehow being with his alpha proved a gentle correction to that. He was enjoying himself a fair bit, sucking his lord off, tasting the tacky, sticky pre-cum in the back of his throat, feeling those glorious balls in his hand. His alpha slapped his inner thigh, making him start forward and choke on the prick, but then Kinbote was massaging the smarting spot he'd hit, smearing Nutmeg's own cunt-wet into his skin and saying, ragged, "That's it. Good -- that's good, omega."</p><p>He pressed a finger into Nutmeg's quivering cunt. It rubbed along the outer folds, lighting up Nutmeg's nerves, and then Kinbote was fucking it in, fucking <i>two</i> in. With his thumb, the alpha began to rub circles on Nutmeg's pleasure-bead, making Nutmeg moan around his cock. </p><p>It felt so good. It wasn't hard, or pummeling, but just a series of slow rubs and finger fucks. The intrusion in his cunt didn't hurt a bit, but it was such a <i>tease</i>. Nutmeg was used to being filled right up, not fondled so expertly. So kindly. He found himself fucking back on his alpha's hand, making Kinbote chuckle. </p><p>"Get me off," the alpha teased, "and drink it down like you like to, Nutmeg. And then I'll do something nice for you."</p><p>Nutmeg blinked, unable to process this. This was already nice. This was <i>so</i> nice, just being slowly and carefully fucked on his lord's hand, being allowed to taste the alpha's huge prick and being gently rubbed off at the same time. He made a tattered sound of agreement and then began to work the magnificent cock properly, tugging the base off with one hand and drooling on the fat head. Sucking and sucking, the thick meat hot on his tongue, bobbing so deep it hit the back of his throat and made his eyes tear up.</p><p>His throat was going sore by the time his lord came with a powerful groan. Warm, hot cum flooded Nutmeg's mouth, too much of it, enough to spill out and make him gasp as he tried to drink it down. The dirty, intoxicating smell filled his nose, and his cunt spasmed on Kinbote's fingers. He drank his alpha's cum and then lapped up what he had missed, licking the softening cockhead clean and shining, and pressing a filthy kiss to the tip just to feel Kinbote's surge of proud satisfaction. </p><p>Then Nutmeg shivered, still fucking his hips back on his lord's hand. He laid his head down next to the fine alpha prick, dazed and happy, and felt the sure, steady rub of those strong fingers spreading his cunt lips, stroking along the sensitive slit and then dipping into him, making him hiccup.</p><p>Stroking in. Out. His hips fucking back, riding his lord’s hand, his wet folds dripping. Just two fingers, then three. His hole spread open, his cunt attended to with no force. Just good, firm rhythm, every rub making his throat hitch. Nutmeg forgot to clench and just enjoyed his alpha’s touch, his alpha petting and rubbing off his little whore-hole as Nutmeg lay there, obediently riding the touch. </p><p>Then, without warning, Kinbote grabbed his hips, dragged him back so his cunt was snug against the alpha's mouth. And <i>licked</i>--</p><p>Hot, wet, and deep. The wriggling tongue buried itself in Nutmeg's needy little mound, turning his very <i>blood</i> to pleasure. Nutmeg was flushed and wailing, as Kinbote's tongue picked up the game and peeled along his cunt, lathed him from slit to pleasure-button. </p><p>The alpha took his time about it, working Nutmeg wetter and wetter with even strokes, little thrusts to his core that made Nutmeg go bitch-stupid. It started strange, nearly wrong in how good it felt. But then Kinbote lapped him up more and more, licking his dirty o-wet and probing in. Slow. Steady. Nutmeg’s cunt was alive with the slobbery pleasure, the scrape of Kinbote’s beard and the messy wet of his tongue. Nutmeg couldn't think, could only fuck back, whimpering. He was being tongue-fucked, a thing he’d been made to do but had never had done to him. He was being pleasured, truly pleasured, so that his sensitive cunt burned with hot, firm licks to his core. </p><p>He couldn’t take it. He was moaning, mind on fire. His hips moved of their own accord, obeying Kinbote’s mouth. Kinbote was making him so loose, and ready, and <i>open</i>. It felt so good Nutmeg nearly forgot to breathe, just clenched his hands on his lord's firm body and gave in, rolling his body back, whimpering and overcome. </p><p>Nutmeg had been fucked, knotted, and pissed in. He'd been beaten, too. But nothing had prepared him for this, for just being attended to like this. Like his own pleasure wasn't just allowed, but wanted. Like his alpha wanted him to feel pleasure.</p><p>Then Kinbote crooked two fingers in along his tongue, alternating the rough finger-fuck with the gentler press of his mouth, and it all got <i>better</i>. Nutmeg thought he must be wailing, but could hardly tell. All he could feel was the teasing attention of his lord's mouth, which then migrated up to spoil his hungry little pleasure-nub. As his lord suckled that, then there would be the lovely punishing press of his three fingers, dipping in and stretching Nutmeg's hole out again, making Nutmeg feel the wonderful burn of being forced open. Nutmeg lasted for perhaps five rounds of this, no more, before he felt something in him crest and spill. He was coming, so hard he couldn't think or see. All he felt was the intense, certain thrill of being worked apart, and he trembled and cried and very nearly passed out.</p><p>-</p><p>After that, he dozed a bit through the blissful aftershocks, only slowly coming back to himself.</p><p>Once he did blink to, he discovered that Kinbote had rearranged them, and that he was lying on top of Kinbote, snug in his alpha's arms. Kinbote did not seem to be resting. He seemed to be grinning into the dark. His hands ran over Nutmeg's back soothingly.</p><p>Nutmeg relaxed into the touch with a sigh. Kinbote had pulled a blanket over them, and Nutmeg was so warm. His cunt felt wrung-out, but not a bit sore. He felt so strangely cared for. </p><p>“Good, sweetheart?” Kinbote asked gently. </p><p>“Mmmm,” Nutmeg managed, nodding into the alpha’s broad chest. He was still past words. He curled up, sandwiched between blanket and his alpha’s warm body, and closed his eyes, and—</p><p>Twig. </p><p>Nutmeg sat bolt upright. </p><p>“My Twig, lord!”</p><p>Kinbote made a sound of utter exasperation.</p><p>"Fine," he growled, after a few moments. "Your Twig, yes, your Twig. Let's go check on your Twig."</p><p>It was well into night now, and most of the inn was asleep beneath a silvery half-circle of moon. Kinbote made Nutmeg put on not only his slippers and leggings and tunic, but also the heavy coat, though he forbore to put on more than a pair of trousers, himself. Nutmeg realized why he'd been made to bundle when they slipped out into the inn yard, where the cold night air hit him so hard that it robbed him of breath for a moment.</p><p>So cold! And poor Twig in a <i>sty</i>!</p><p>Flushed with guilt and worry, Nutmeg hurried across the fields. Kinbote cursed, and was just behind him. When Nutmeg nearly tripped over a wayward stick, the alpha cursed again and just scooped him up, saying, "I don't think breaking a fucking leg will help Twig much, for Lupa's sake!" and then grousing all the way to the little fenced-in pigyard that circled the sty.</p><p>Scawmin and the other psi had set their bedrolls on the far side of this, at the actual entrance to the enclosure. But, when Kinbote and Nutmeg rounded the bend, they could see the psis were not in their bedrolls, but seated on the hard, cold ground some fifteen yards off, staring slack-jawed at the sty.</p><p>Kinbote growled again.</p><p>"What is this?" he demanded, setting a worried Nutmeg down on the ground and advancing on his servant. "I told you to stay close by Twig, keep an eye on him! He's just a boy, Scawmin, motherless and away from home for the first time in his life--"</p><p>Nutmeg tuned this out, concern rising in him. Why had the psis been run off? How had they been run off? When he reached the sty gate he struggled to get it open, to lift the heavy crossbar, and nearly missed Scawmin's reply. </p><p>"Tell me how I'm supposed to keep Lord Larkin away, Lord," the psi said, sounding wry.</p><p>"Larkin?" Kinbote said.</p><p><i>Larkin?</i> Nutmeg thought.</p><p>And then it struck him. A lusty, potent scent that made his knees buckle. It was Larkin, could only be Larkin, handsome and virile, but it was Twig, too. And now Nutmeg could hear his brother's wild cries.</p><p>Not pained ones. Quite the opposite. Nutmeg pulled back and stared into the dark of the pen, eyes wide, and there in the muddy straw he could make out Larkin's coat spread on the ground. </p><p>And <i>Twig</i> spread on the <i>coat</i>.</p><p>Legs locked around a fearsome, massive sight. A beautiful dark-furred wolf. Twig was drooling, and there was already a hard knot at his wet, naked cunt, spreading the flesh obscenely. Larkin was pressing relentless licks to Twig's bite-swollen scent gland, and Twig was glassy-eyed and quivering, the sweet, ripe scent of his cunt-juices swamping the smell of even the sleeping pigs. He clutched the big beast and moaned, no doubt just as dizzy and dumbstruck as Nutmeg had been when he'd been claimed. But the sight of it still made Nutmeg cry out, alarmed. The wolf was very still, letting Twig squirm on him and rock his little cunt to orgasm, but it still made Nutmeg think of that horrible day with the kennel-dogs, and so he was frightened.</p><p>"Larkin!" Kinbote roared now, stomping up behind Nutmeg.</p><p>His brother didn't dignify this with more than a grunt. Larkin just kept licking his new bitch. Twig held on to him, burying his face in the dark fur, and moaned again.</p><p>"<i>Larkin!</i>" Kinbote said again. </p><p>Then he was heaving up the crossbar and crossing to the pair, looming over Larkin with a furious roar in his throat. This, somehow, produced some sense in the younger alpha. There was that odd, shimmering unreality to the air, like the moon had gone behind a cloud and then come back again, and then a young man was locked onto Twig, holding that omega close.</p><p>"What?" Larkin demanded, looking confused. His arms tightened on Twig. He seemed to come to with a piqued look on his face, evidently a bit astonished by how his body seemed unwilling to let go of the omega that was shaking in his arms.</p><p>"I was--" he began, then bit off, eyes wide, still focused on Twig. “What? I don’t—“</p><p>"You don’t what?" Kinbote bit out. "You'd better have a good fucking explanation--"</p><p>Larkin looked up. He looked young and uncertain, as if he were trying to piece something together.</p><p>"For Turning?" he said. "No. I think I've broken a law of Lupa, to be honest. I'll have to pay fines of penance when I get to Skoll, I suppose. As for claiming him, I...he was crying. I could hear him in my room--"</p><p>"Your room is sixty fucking yards that way!" Kinbote roared, gesturing towards the inn. </p><p>"I could hear him like he was right next to me! As if something were connecting him to my dreams! He was so cold and alone, and when I came out no one was comforting him or warming him or caring that he was so miserable, and it just happened! As if I were mushroom-high, my mind all fogged. But I know he asked me! My wolf! He asked it to be touched, to be fucked and held and claimed, and--"</p><p>Larkin bit off. His eyes were bright, his curls a dark halo in the moonlight. The omega in his arms began to come to, Twig’s skinny hands stroking the back of his neck. </p><p>"It’s alright,” Twig mumbled. “It’s alright, lord. This thing is yours now. As I’ve asked to be.”</p><p>-</p><p>It took another day to reach Skoll City. Another day of hard riding, of rattling about in the cart for the omegas. Nutmeg quizzed Twig relentlessly to ensure he was well, but his brother surprised him.</p><p>Twig was oddly triumphant. He cast wet, adoring looks in the direction of Larkin's horse. Larkin was sending identical looks back, though he seemed rather more confused and penitent. But Twig gave no indication that there was anything to be penitent for.  He did not seem to mind that his leggings were ripped, his thighs were bruised, his neck quite swollen, and his cunt full of sticky wolf-cum.</p><p>"This thing is Prince Larkin's now," he said shyly, one hand splayed on his pouched, cum-swollen belly. "And I felt like I was made to be, Nut. And he made to be mine. It felt right."</p><p>Nutmeg touched his own silver collar, not any less concerned than before.</p><p>"And you can...feel him?" he asked, dreading the answer. Lord Larkin probably had beautiful thoughts, but he was not sure he wanted Twig to be privy to them, to be at the mercy of the sort of bond the claiming produced, so intense and violating. He had thought of it often, since Kinbote had collared him, and concluded that the collar was for the best. Neither he nor his alpha had seemed to know what to do with a mind-bond, and Larkin and Twig were so young, and--</p><p>Twig stared at him, innocence writ on his scent and in his huge eyes.</p><p>"Of course this thing can feel him. Is only his scent I care for now, Nut. No one else's."</p><p>"No, not a scent!" Nutmeg insisted. "Can you -- what is he <i>thinking</i>? Can you tell me?"</p><p>Twig went wide-eyed.</p><p>"How should I know?" he asked, genuinely puzzled.</p><p>And when they stopped at midday to give the horses water, and Larkin came to the cart to lift Twig up and whisper things to the boy that made him giggle, Kinbote came up to Nutmeg as well. He sat on the edge of the cart, next to Nutmeg, and watched Nutmeg swing his legs for a moment.</p><p>"They have no...they cannot..." the alpha said, voice low, as if he was at a loss for words. "What happened to us, I mean. Larkin and Twig haven't experienced the same thing."</p><p>"I know," Nutmeg whispered back.</p><p>"But why?" Kinbote demanded. "Why us, and not them?"</p><p>"Are you asking <i>me</i>, alpha?" Nutmeg said.</p><p>Kinbote scowled.</p><p>"I suppose I am, but you're right that it's stupid of me to do that. You wouldn't know."</p><p>"This thing is just an omega," Nutmeg said, nodding.</p><p>There was a frustrated, sad twinge in his heart, for he hated accepting his so-called place, his natural deficiencies. But in this case, he was indeed pathetically ignorant, and no use at all, and so he probably deserved this feeling of smallness.</p><p>But Kinbote barked out a laugh.</p><p>"You're an omega," he agreed, nodding, his flashing grin lighting up his face for a moment. "With a will, conviction, and good strong wits that don’t suit your caste, but do suit <i>you</i>. You'll have to forgive me, little oddity, if sometimes I assume you'll surprise me. You so often do."</p><p>-</p><p>Still, Nutmeg could not possibly surprise Kinbote any more than Kinbote surprised him.</p><p>As the sun lengthened and shimmered and dropped over the horizon that evening, they crested a hill, and there was Skoll. It sprawled without restraint, hugging a vast black ocean that made Twig squeak and Nutmeg's mouth fall open. They entered the city by a shabby district lit by greenish gaslight, criss-crossed with wide, dark canals, so that the Kin clan's party clattered over bridges and along wharfs, sending bundled-up citydwellers of all castes scattering before them, shouting curses into the air that mingled with songs trailing from brightly-painted buildings, chants falling from the doors of churches, and laughter echoing from the mouths of little children who played on the cobblestones. As Nutmeg and Twig struggled to take it all in, they progressed deeper and deeper until the canals evened out and then fell away, and they were drawing into a leafy district with wide streets and great walls rising up on either side. </p><p>They came to one in which was set a gate, and the gate was set with onyx and rubies, for the Kin clan. As soon as they had passed inside, into a cool courtyard of white marble, Nutmeg felt both safer and much more disappointed, to lose the wild sights from before. </p><p>Servants descended on them. Nutmeg looked for his alpha, but Kinbote was mobbed by people, as was Larkin. They were being helped down from their horses, praised, their boots kissed, their coats removed, food brought for them, music strummed to them, a great many attendants and soldiers and lords and ladies eager to bid them welcome, chief among them a huge red-haired alpha in priest's robes, as tall as Kinbote and twice as wide, with a booming laugh that echoed through the now-packed courtyard.</p><p>Ingwret had slipped off to help Olakna unload her books, and Tellusin had gone off to see to the horses, and Scawmin was busy carting luggage for Larkin's staff beta. Indeed, anyone not helping the alphas settle in was attending to the higher castes in the party, and Nutmeg and Twig, being comparatively unimportant, were left to clutch each other and glance around, trying to take in the crowd, the bustle, the boisterous greetings and the feeling of a new world lavishing attention on itself with no care at all for them.</p><p>Until a smart tau servant in crimson livery should shimmer into view.</p><p>"Come with me," he said, looking them over. "The princes have charged me with seeing you settled. The omega quarters are this way."</p><p>He did not say to crawl, so Nutmeg didn't. He wanted to walk, so he could clutch Twig's hand as they followed the tau deep into a warren of tapestried hallways, twisting and turning this way and that, up a back stair, and then down a hall that overlooked a second, smaller courtyard with a garden in it. At the end of this hall there was a rounded door, and this the tau opened, waving them through.</p><p>They stepped in. The door closed behind them with a click. When Nutmeg whirled around and tried it, he saw with dismay that it was locked.</p><p>But Twig was making awed sounds.</p><p>Nutmeg turned around again.</p><p>The room was warm, with a fire in the massive tiled fireplace. And large, with a big roomy space before some mirrors set in the wall, and several nicely-carved wardrobes along one end, and on the other end a small rocking crib and three little beds, proper beds, each with woven silk blankets and a pretty, tile-inlaid chest at the foot. The windows were set up too high to reach, but they were nice big windows, with stars twinkling just beyond them. By the door there was a little yellow bird singing in a cage, which Twig smiled at, and a little ways off there was another door, which appeared to lead to a very big bathroom. </p><p>Someone was humming in it. Low. Nutmeg and Twig looked at each other, and then warily stepped forward, peering beyond the big arched doorway.</p><p>There was another omega there. Extremely pale, with hair even blacker than Bonbon’s. He was sitting on the floor a ways off from them, wearing little but a belted red tunic cut just as theirs were, so that it was not much more than a piece of cloth with an embroidered neckhole, draped to cover his front and rear but not his sides. This showed that he was very shapely, with lovely firm breasts and a good, sizeable bottom. He had a sweetly turned-up nose and thin, expressive brows, and he was cooing at something he held fast in the tub, soaping it up with a washcloth.</p><p>A baby. Golden-haired, ruddy-cheeked. Very small, so small he could scarcely be a month old, with achingly gorgeous golden eyes. The child blinked those eyes at Twig and Nutmeg, and Nutmeg stepped forward, catching a hint of the scent.</p><p>He'd smelled that before. Fainter. That little thrum of a new life—</p><p>There was a clatter, as the door to the omega quarters were opened. Nutmeg and Twig whirled around again, startled.</p><p>It was Lord Kinbote.</p><p>He stepped into the warm, spacious omegas’ room, squinting at first in the wrong direction as if the space was not familiar to him, and called out, "Nutmeg?"</p><p>"A-aye!" said Nutmeg, who was pleased to see him, but also very confused. "Right here, mine alpha."</p><p>Kinbote’s head snapped around, relief on his craggy features. He stepped up to Nutmeg and sized up the scene. The black-haired omega had not paused in washing the baby and making little formless noises to him, and Kinbote tapped his own ear with a finger. </p><p>"Slit is mostly deaf," he told Twig and Nutmeg, voice low. "He was kicked around a bit between the brothels and breeding mills until Erskine should rescue him and patch him up, but nothing could be done for his mind. So he hears very little, and thinks very slowly. Stay back and let him finish his task, so you don't startle him."</p><p>"Lord," Nutmeg said, trying to piece things together. "His pup--"</p><p>Kinbote shook his head gravely.</p><p>"Not his," he said, low and firm. "No. That child is -- I had made a vow. To your mother, believing he would die, and that I had to give him <i>something</i> to -- to make up for his life. And Wisp said he wanted his pup to be in my care. Asked for that. So I had Yyls bring the child here, named him part of my staff, under my protection."</p><p>Kinbote paused, and looked oddly caught out.</p><p>"I've called him Beam," he said, after a moment. "For the way he smiles. If you two think that does not suit--"</p><p>But Twig was already crying out, with fierce joy, "Beam! Oh, Beam, oh he’s so beautiful--"</p><p>And Nutmeg threw himself into his alpha's arms, crying with raw shock and delight, and thanking the Goddess despite himself.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Next up: an epilogue! To be posted some time this week. </p><p>No, we have no answer on Beam’s caste status, and that will have to be reserved for the sequel. Right now he is a squishy newborn, so I choose to believe it is rather ambiguous. Although the actual reason we have no answer is because I haven’t made up my mind! I had planned to make him an OMEGA (gasp!) but then people suggested I must have meant for him to be an alpha, and you know what? That’s a really intriguing idea that comes 100% from the readership, and I see pros and cons to it, and so I’m kicking the question down the road and I will make up my mind later, LOL.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0023"><h2>23. Epilogue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Wisp curled up with Bonbon and little Gem, the night after his children left. </p><p>And dreamed.</p><p>He dreamed on warm, clean sheets, much warmer and cleaner than anything the omegas had enjoyed under Gervaise. And he dreamed without pain, for once, for Lord Havis restricted him to not more than four men per day, and so he was not so sore come nightfall. </p><p>But in his dream, he still wept.</p><p>He did not mean to. This was a lovely place, his dream-place. A dappled clearing, with big, leafy trees cradling him. And he was always firm and strong here, no matter his state in the waking world, and always comforted, too.</p><p>There came the crunch of the leafmeal beneath Her feet. Her long brown limbs wound around him, and She kissed his temple.</p><p><i>What is it, my bonny Wisp?</i> said Lupa.</p><p>Wisp turned to look in Her golden eyes. He wiped at his tears, not wanting Her to see.</p><p>Lupa clucked. She loosened Her arms and danced around him, then sank into a kneeling position before him, so She could wipe away the tracks of his tears. The skin of Her fingers was soft and yet scorching. She looked a beautiful maiden when She appeared to Wisp, but there was always a searing, too-bright sun blazing from Her gaze, forever lighting up Her brown skin and long dark hair. </p><p><i>Did I not tell you all would be well?</i> She asked Wisp tenderly.</p><p>"Aye," Wisp said, nodding and obedient. He relaxed into Her touch as She continued to stroke his face. "It's just that this thing misses them, Goddess. This thing did as you asked, and let them go without me, but I miss them."</p><p>His Nutmeg. His Twig. And the little one, who he had not even had the chance to hold.</p><p>The forlorn pit in inside him swelled. Overflowed. Suddenly he was sobbing wildly, unable to contain his missing and his grief. </p><p>His children. His babies. </p><p>"Why could I not go with them?" he cried out.</p><p>Lupa pressed a kiss to his forehead. She smiled, and when She smiled Her teeth were sharp and animal.</p><p>
  <i>And let our Kinbote give you to another? When you are mine? When you begged and begged not to have to bear the children of your rapists, and consecrated yourself to me instead?</i>
</p><p>
  <i>When so many have failed in really seeing me, really believing me and honoring my wishes, you offered up every corner of yourself. That makes you mine. And I cannot have you claimed. Any alpha that would try, I'm afraid I'd have to strike dead.</i>
</p><p><i>In any case, Kinbote's pick to claim you would have been rather a bad one.</i> </p><p>Then She pressed Wisp back against the leafmeal, and stretched over him so Her big, firm cock could prod the omega's naked cunt. </p><p>
  <i>As for the children, I'll always protect them, in my way, my Wisp. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>My sweet boys, and you my good loyal follower who bore them.</i>
</p><p>She caressed the little pouch of Wisp's belly. Then She pushed into him, hot and burning, making him cry out. She kissed the tears on his face as She began to move, to thrust, and Wisp moved with Her, stretched around Her big cock, moaning at the pain that ran into bright, insistent pleasure. As always, he felt hollowed out, cunt pushed to the breaking point, the rub of Her cock against his walls reducing him to shudders of growing need. </p><p><i>I won't fail them, my darling,</i> said Wisp's Goddess, as She fucked him into submission. <i>I gave you those babies for a reason.</i></p><p>-</p><p>The morning after their arrival in Skoll, after breakfasting with Erskine and talking over some matters to do with the councils, Kinbote found his omega. He had the sincere delight of carrying a well-rested, happy Nutmeg to his rooms, and spending some long moments kissing and fondling the boy, a pleasure made doubly sweet by the fact that, finally, Kinbote was more or less home. </p><p>His home, here in Skoll, which was now Nutmeg's. And this would be their first time fucking in this bed, the first of many, and for some reason Kinbote was nearly giddy over it. Nutmeg looked lovely against his crisp white sheets, glowing, his mouth swollen from kisses.</p><p>But something nagged at Kinbote.</p><p>"Alpha," Nutmeg whined, reaching for him, and Kinbote shook his head slightly. He spread himself out next to the boy, and pulled him in, and then changed his mind. </p><p>He said, "Nutmeg. I must ask you. Who bit you? Before I did. Who was it, who nipped you and left you abandoned?"</p><p>He'd charged Scawmin, Tellusin, Zoree, Ataleia, and Ingwret all with investigating, back when they'd been at the keep. And none had been able to turn up a name, for some reason. But not knowing needled something inside Kinbote. Brought forth a sense of wrongness, an instinct, as if he were sensing a divine warning from Lupa Herself. He stared hard at Nutmeg and watched the boy open his mouth, start to speak, and--</p><p>Choke. Nutmeg began to <i>choke</i>. It was so sudden Kinbote couldn't understand it, and then a moment later Nutmeg was turning purple, gasping, desperate for air. Kinbote gave a yell and was on him, turning him over to thump his back. After a few moments Nutmeg recovered, blinking away tears, and Kinbote held him and soothed him, quite confused. </p><p>Then, when Nutmeg was calmer, and they were past the fright of the choking spell, he remembered to ask again.</p><p>And it happened again. </p><p>It happened every time Nutmeg tried to say the name. It left his omega, his Nutmeg, flopping about on the sheets like a fish, gagging, desperate for air. After the third or fourth try, they both realized this was tied to the name, and after that it was rather harder to get Nutmeg to stop trembling.</p><p>"I can't say it," he forced out, sobbing. "Why -- why can't I say it?"</p><p>Kinbote had no idea. But he intended to find out. He stroked Nutmeg's back and tried to choke down his own fury. Something was happening here, something he did not understand and did not like. Something that was hurting his omega.</p><p>Nutmeg's thin brown hands found his collar. He looked Kinbote in the eye, his mouth a firm little line.</p><p>"Take it off," he proposed. "For just a moment, alpha. And -- and I'll <i>think</i> on the one that did it. So you can see him--"</p><p>The idea was sound, but Kinbote still wanted to refuse. For some reason, it filled him with trepidation. </p><p>But Nutmeg kept insisting.</p><p>That time, when Nutmeg tried to summon up the man who had hurt him, they <i>both</i> began to choke, and pain fogged up their minds, and they passed out.</p><p>No wiser than before.</p><p>-</p><p>Later, after a shaken Kinbote had called for a theta to tend Nutmeg and left the boy convalescing, he took to the breezy, flower-scented streets of the alphas' district, thinking.</p><p>There was no Gift of Lupa that could permit anyone, of any caste, to work magic like this. </p><p>This spell, this sorcery, it had --</p><p>He growled low in his throat.</p><p>It had the tinge of <i>leopards</i>.</p><p>But it wasn't like anything Kinbote had ever seen those beasts produce, in all his time on the front lines.</p><p>He needed to speak to some of his fellow lords on the War Council. His fellow soldiers. Perhaps others might have seen something like this. So now his footsteps led him through the edge of the park, past bowers of ornamental sunflowers inter-planted with vines of white moonflowers, to a small, pretty townhouse with gumdrop towers. He rang the bell and requested the Second Lord of the War Council, the wisest man he knew.</p><p>His mentor listened to his description. Furrowed his brow. Stroked his grey-streaked beard. </p><p>"Removing a name from existence would take a degree of mind-control I'm not even certain the leopards possess," was the murmured answer.</p><p>And then Lord Brindle-brin-alpha smiled, and clapped Kinbote on the shoulder, and said, "But we will figure it out! And now you must tell me who this little lover is, who has you so obsessed. I swear, he's gotten into your scent. </p><p>“Kinbote, my friend. You smell so...deliciously <i>complete</i>."</p>
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